The Letters Of John Keats Volume Ii

The Letters of
JOHN KEATS

^auruiy

Toume.

fi^xrrrv tht cri^inaL TnuxicLturt^ vrv 4J%c J> 0 ss€sswrv
cf htt ^TOAiArdcui^k^ firs Oswald. SUis

The Letters of

JOHN KEATS

Edited by

MAURICE BUXTON FORMAN

VOLUME II

Humphrey Milfori
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
AMEN HOUSE, E.C. 4
LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW
LEIPZIG NEWYORK TORONTO
MELBOURNE CAPETOWN BOMBAY
CALCUTTA MADRAS SHANGHAI

HUMPHREY MILFORD

PUBLISHER TO THE
UNIVERSITY

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

LETTERS

94. To RICH° WOODHOUSE, Esq«, Taylor and Hessey,
Fleet Street.

Wentworth Place Friday Morn [Postmark, iSDecember 1818].
My dear Woodhouse

I am greatly obliged to you. I must needs feel
flattered by making an impression on a set of Ladies —
I should be content to do so in meretricious romance
verse if they alone and not Men were to judge. I should
like very much to know those Ladies — tho’ look here
Woodhouse — I have a new leaf to turn over — I must
work — I must read — I must write — I am unable to afibrd
time for new acquaintances — I am scarcely able to do
my duty to those I have. Leave the matter to chance.
But do not forget to give my Remb” to you[r] Cousin.

Yours most sincerely

John Keats

95. To REYNOLDS, Little Britain, Christ's Hospital.
WentworthPlaceTuesd[ay]. [Imperfect Postmark,!^^. . . 1818.]
My dear M” Reynolds,

When I left you yesterday, ’twas with the conviction
that you thought I had received no previous invitation
for Clmstmas day: the truth is I had, and had accepted
it xmder the conviction that I should be in Hampshire
at the time: else believe me I should not have done so,
but kept in Mind my old fiiends. I will not speak of the

94. It seems likely that the ‘set of ladies’ here alluded to was the
same that Keats mentions in Letter 93, pp. 271-3. If so. Miss
Porter and Miss Fitzgerald woxild scarcely have felt as flattered as
Keats ‘must needs’ have felt.

95. Miss Charlotte Reynolds told me that this letter was sent to
her mother a few days before Christmas-day 1818. The choice is
therefore between Tuesday the 15th of December and Tuesday the
22nd of December; and the later date seems the likelier. Miss
Reynolds thought that the other invitation was from Mrs. Brawne.

293

n

B

Letter 96 December

proportion of pleasure I may receive at different Houses
— that never enters my head — ^you may take for a truth
that I would have given up even what I did see to be
a greater pleasure, for the sake of old acquaintanceship
— time is nothing — two years are as long as twenty.

Yours faithfully

John Keats

96. To BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON, Lisson Grove,
Paddington.

Tuesday, Wentworth Place [Postmark, 23 December 1818].
My dear Haydon,

Upon my Soul I never felt your going out of the room
at all — and believe me I never rhodomontade anywhere

96. The 23rd of December 1818 was a Wednesday. This letter
belongs therefore to the 22nd. The following characteristic letter,
from what may be a draft or rough copy, wafered into Haydon’s
journal, is evidently a reply to this of Keats’s, and was probably
written within a day or two of the 22nd of December 1818: —

Keats! Upon my Soul I could have wept at your letter; to find
one of real heart and feeling is to me a blessed solace; I have met
with such heartless treatment from those to whom without reserve
I had given my friendship, that I expected no[t] what I wished in
human Nature. There is only one besides yourself who ever
offer [ed to] act and did act affection, he wa[s] of a different tem-
perament from us; coo[ier] but not kinder, he did his best from
moral feeling, and not from bursting impulse; but still he did it;
you have behaved to me as I would have behaved to you my dear
fellow, and if I am constrained to come to you at last, your property
shall only be a transfer for a limited time on such security as will
ensure you repayment in case of my Death—that is whatever part
of it you assist me with: but I will try every comer first. Ah my
dear Keats my illness has been a severe touch! — I declare to God
I do not feel alone in the World now you have written me that
letter. If you go on writing as you [repjeated the other night, you
may wish to [live] in a sublime solitude, but you will [n]ot be
allowed. I approve most completely [of] your plan of travels and
study, and [s]hould suffer torture if my wants [in]terrupted it — in
short they shall not [m]y dear Keats. I believe you from my soul
when you say you would sacrifice all for me; and when your means
are gone, if God give me means my heart and house and home and
every thing shall be shared with you— -I mean this too. It has often
occurred to me but I have never spoken of it. — ^My great object is

294

jSiS Letter 96

but in your Company — my general Life in Society is
silence. I feel in myself all the vices of a Poet, irritability,
love of effect and admiration — and influenced by such
devils I may at times say more ridiculous things than
I am aware of— but I will put a stop to that in a manner
I have long resolved upon — I will buy a gold ring and
put it on my finger — and from that time a Man of
superior head shall never have occasion to pity me, or
one of inferior Nunskull to chuckle at me. I am cer-
tainly more for greatness in a shade than in the open
day — I am speaMng as a mortal — I should say I value
more the privilege of seeing great things in loneliness
than the fame of a Prophet. Yet here I am sinning — so
I will turn to a thing I have thought on more — I mean
you[r] means till your picture be finished: not only now
but for this year and half have I thought of it. Believe
me Haydon I have that sort of fire in my heart that
would sacrifice every thing I have to your service — I
speak without any reserve — I know you would do so for
me — I open my heart to you in a few words. I will do
this sooner than you shall be distressed: but let me be
the last stay — ^Ask the rich lovers of Art first — I’U tell
you why — I have a little money which may enable me

the public encouragement of historical painting and the glory of
England in high Art — to ensure these I would lay my head on the
block this instant. My illness the consequence of early excess in
study, has fatigued most of my Friends. I have no reason to com-
plain of the lovers of Art, I have been liberally assisted; but when
a man comes again with a tale of his ill health; they don’t believe
him my dear Keats; can I bear the thousandth part of a dry
hesitation, the searching scrutiny of an apprehensi[on] of in-
sincerity; the musing hum of a sounding question; the prying, petty
paltr[y,] whining doubt, that is inferred from [a request PJJbr a day

to consider [ ^Ah Kea[ts,] this is sad work for one of my soul and

Ambition. The truest thing you ever said of mortal was that I had
a touch of Alexander in me! — I have, I know it, and the World
shall know it, but this is the purgative drug I must first take. —
Gome so[on] my dear fellow— ^Sunday nobody is coming I believe
— and I will lay [my] Soul bare before you.

Your affectionate Friend

B. R. Haydon

B 2

295

Letter 97 December

to study, and to travel for three or four years. I never
expect to get anything by my Books: and moreover
I wish to avoid publishing — I admire Human Nature
but I do not like Men, I should like to compose things
honourable to Man— but not fingerable over by Men,
So I am anxious to exist with [out] troubling the
printer’s devil or drawing upon Men’s or Women’s
admiration— in which great solitude I hope God will
give me strength to rejoice. Try the long purses — but
do not sell your drawing [s] or I shall consider it a breach
of friendship. I am sorry I was not at home when
Salmon^ called. Do write and let me know all your
present whys and wherefores.

Yours most faithfully

John Keats.

97. To JOHN TAYLOR, Esq^e, Taylor and Hessefs, Fleet
Street.

Wentworth Place [Postmark^ 24 December 1818.]
My dear Taylor

Can you lend me 30^^ for a short time?— ten I want
for myself— and twenty for a friend — ^which will be
repaid me by the middle of next Month. I shall go to
Chichester on Wednesday and perhaps stay a fortnight
— I am affraid I shall not be able to dine with you before
I return — Remember me to Woodhouse —

Your’s sincerely

John Keats

98. To Miss KEATS, Abbeys Esq^^ Pancras Lane^ Queen
Street Cheapside.

Wentworth Place Wednesday {Postmarky 31 December 1818.]
My dear Fanny,

I am confined at Hampstead with a sore throat; but
I do not expect it will keep me above two or three days.

^ Haydon notes — *my Servant*.

98. As the 31st of December 1818 was a Thursday, this letter
belongs to the 30th.

296

d 8 i 8 Letter 99

I indended \sic\ to have been in Town yesterday but
feel obliged to be careful a little while. I am in general
so careless of these trifles, that they tease me for Months,
when a few days care is all that is necessary. I shall not
neglect any chance of an endeavour to let you return to
School — nor to procure you a Visit to M"*® Dilke’s which
I have great fears about. Write me if you can find time
— and also get a few lines ready for George as the Post
sails next Wednesday.

Your affectionate Brother

John—

99. BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Wentworth Place.

My dear Haydon,

I had an engagement to day — and it is so fine a morn-
ing that I cannot put it off— I will be with you to-
morrow — ^when we will thank the Gods, though you
have bad eyes and I am idle.

I regret more than anything the not being able to
dine with you today. I have had several movements
that way — but then I should disappoint one who has

99. This undated letter is inserted in Haydon’s journal next to
Letter 96, postmarked the 23rd of December 1818; and on the re-
verse of the same leaf, immediately before the entries for the
31st of December 1818, is fastened the following letter: —

My dear Keats,

I am gone out to walk in a positive agony — ^my eyes are so weak
I can do nothing to day — ^if I did to day I should be totally in-
capacitated to-morrow — therefore you will confer a great favor on
me to come to-morrow instead between ten and eleven — as I shall
walk about all day in the air, and perhaps will call on you before
three — I hope in God, by rest to day — to be quite adequate to it
tomorrow.

Yours most affect^y
dear Keats

Friday Morning B. R. Haydon

Perhaps Haydon^s letter should be assigned to Friday the ist of
January 1819, and Keats’s to the following day.

297

Letter lOO ^anuarj^

been my true friend. I will be with you tomorrow
morning and stop all day — ^we will hate the profane
vulgar and make us Wings.

God bless you

J. Keats

loo. To BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Wentworth Place Monday Aft. [ii January 1819?]

My dear Haydon,

I have been out this morning, and did not therefore
see your note till this minute, or I would have gone to
town directly — ^it is now too late for to day. I will be in
town early tomorrow, and trust I shall be able to lend
you assistance noon or night. I was struck with the
improvement in the architectural part of your Picture
and, now I think on it, I cannot help wondering you
should have had it so poor, especially after the Solomon.
Excuse this dry bones of a note: for though my pen may
grow cold, I should be sorry my Life should freeze —
Your affectionate friend

John Keats

100. This letter is wafered into Haydon’s journal together with
the following to which it seems to be a reply. Haydon’s, dated the
7th of January 1819 (a Thursday), was perhaps kept over till the
following Monday, in which case the probable date of Keats’s
reply is the nth of January 1819. —

My dear Keats

I now frankly tell you I will accept your friendly offer; I hope
you will pardon my telling you so, but I am disappointed where
I expected not to be and my only hope for the concluding difficul-
ties of my Picture lie[s] in you, I leave this in case you are not at
home. Do let me hear from you how you are, and when I shall get
my bond ready for you, for that is the best way for me to do, at
two years.

I am dear Keats

Your affectionate Friend

Jany. 7th 1819. B. R. Haydon

298

i 8 ig Letter 102

1 01. To Miss KEATS, Abbey's Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place —

My dear Fanny,

I send this to Walthamstow for fear you should not be
at Pancras Lane when I call tomorrow — before going
into Hampshire for a few days — it will not be more I
assure you — ^You may think how disappointed I am in
not being able to see you more and spend more time
with you than I do — but how can it be helped?

The thought is a continual vexation to me — and often
hinders me from reading and composing — ^Write to me
as often as you can — and believe me

Your affectionate Brother

John —

102. To BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Wentworth Place [January 1819].

My dear Haydon,

We are very unlucky — I should have stopped to dine
with you, but I knew I should not have been able to

101. The postmark of this imdated letter is illegible; but the
subject points to the early part of 1819 — probably to January.

1 02. This letter has no date or postmark, but clearly follows very
closely on Haydon’s letter of the 7th of January 1819, and precedes
the following note dated the 14th of January 1819, which quotes
the words ‘agonie ennuyeuse’: —

My dear Keats, 14th January, 1819.

Your letter was every thing that is kind, affectionate and
friendly. I depend on it; it has relieved my anxioxis mind. — ^The
‘agonie ennuyeuse’ you talk of be assured is nothing but the intense
searching of a glorious spirit, and the disappointment it feels at its
first contact with the muddy world — ^but it will go off— and bye
and bye you will shine through it with ‘fresh A[r] gent’ — don’t let
it injure your health; for two years I felt that agony. — Write me
before that I may be home when you come. God bless you my
dear Keats !

Yours ever

B. R. Haydon.

The words given above as ‘fresh Argent’ are not clearly written in
the manuscript in Haydon’s journal; but I think a reference was
intended to one of the many instances in which Keats uses the
word argent

299

Letter 103 January^

leave you in time for my plaguy sore throat; which is
getting well.

I shall have a little trouble in procuring the Money
and a great ordeal to go through — no trouble indeed to
any one else — or ordeal either. I mean I shall have to
go to town some thrice, and stand in the Bank an hour
or two — to me worse than any thing in Dante — I should
have less chance with the people around me than
Orpheus had with the Stones. I have been writing
a little now and then lately: but nothing to speak of—
being discontented and as it were moulting. Yet I do
not think I shall ever come to the rope or the Pistol, for
after a day or two’s melancholy, although I smoke more
and more my own insufSciency — I see by little and little
more of what is to be done, and how it is to be done,
should I ever be able to do it. On my soul, there should
be some reward for that continual ‘agonie ennuyeuse.’

I was thinking of going into Hampshire for a few days.

I have been delaying it longer than I intended. You
shall see me soon; and do not be at all anxious, for this
time I really will do, what I never did before in my life,
business in good time, and properly. — ^With respect to
the Bond — ^it may be a satisfaction to you to let me have
it: but as you love me do not let there be any mention
of interest, although we are mortal men — and bind our-
selves for fear of death.

Your’s for ever

John Keats —

103. To BENJi^IN ROBERT HAYDON, Lisson Grove
North. Paddington. „

Wentworth Place. [January 1819.]

My dear Haydon,

My throat has not suffered me yet to expose myself to
the night air: however I have been to town in the day
time — ^have had several interviews with my guardian —

103. The manuscript bears neither date nor dated postmark;
but the letter must belong I think to January 1819, by reason of
the subject.

300

i 8 ig Letter 104

have written him rather a plain-spoken Letter — ^which
has had its effect; and he now seems inclined to put no
stumbling block in my way: so that I see a good prospect
of performing my promise. What I should have lent
you ere this if I could have got it, was belonging to poor
Tom — and the difficulty is whether I am to inherit it
before my Sister is of age; a period of six years. Should
it be so I must incontinently take to Corderoy Trowsers.
But I am nearly confident ’tis all a Bam.^ I shall see you
soon — but do let me have a line to day or to morrow
concerning your health and spirits.

Your sincere friend

John Keats

104. To GHAS. W. DILKE Esq^, Navy Pay Office, Somerset
house, London,

From Charles Brown and Keats.^

^ Bedhampton. 24*^ Jan^ 1819.

Dear Dilke,

This letter is for your Wife, and if you are a Gentleman, you
will deliver it to her, without reading one word further, ’read
thou Squire. There is a wager depending on this.

My charming dear Dilke,

It was delightful to receive a letter from you, — ^but such a letter!
what presumption in me to attempt to answer it! Where shall
I find, in my poor brain, such gibes, such jeers, such flashes of
merriment? Alas ! you will say, as you read me, Alas I poor Brown 1
quite chop fallen I ^ But that’s not true; my chops have been
beautifully plumped out since I came here: my dinners have been
good & nourishing, & my inside never washed by a red herring
broth. Then my mind has been so happy! I have been smiled on
by the fair ones, the Lacy’s, the Prices, & the MulHngs’s, but not

^ Bam (archaic) = Hoax.

2 Of this joint composition Keats’s portion is printed in the
larger and Brown’s portion in the smaller type. The letter was
addressed on the outside by Brown.

3 ‘Hamlet’, v. i. 207-1 1.

301

Letter 104 January^

by the Richards’s; Old Dicky has not called here during my visit,
— I have not seen him; the whole of the family are shuffling to
carriage folks for acquaintances, cutting their old friends, and
dealing out pride & foUy, while we aUow they have got the odd
tricky but dispute their honours. I was determined to be beforehand
with them, & behaved cavalierly & neglectingly to the family, &
passed the girls in Havant with a slight bow. Keats is much
better, owing to a strict forbearance from a third glass of wine.
He & I walked from Chichester yesterday; we were here at 3, but
the Dinner was finished; a brace of Muir fowl had been dressed;
I ate a piece of the breast cold, & it was not tainted; I dared not
venture further. Snook was nearly turned sick by being merely
asked to take a mouthful. The other brace was so high^ that the
Cook declined preparing them for the spit, & they were thrown
away. I see your husband declared them to be in excellent order;
I suppose he enjoyed them in a disgusting manner,— sucking the
rotten flesh off the bones, & crunching the putrid bones. Did you
eat any? I hope not, for an ooman should be delicate in her food.
— O you Jezabel! to sit quietly in your room, while the thieves
were ransacking my house! No doubt poor Ann’s throat was cut;
has the Coroner sat on her yet?— Snook says she knows how
to hold a pen very well, & wants no lessons from me; only think
of the vanity of the ooman\ She tells me to make honourable
mention of your letter which she received at Breakfast time, but
how can I do so? I have not read it; & I’ll lay my life it is not
a tenth part so good as mine, — Upshaw on your letter to her! — On
Tuesday night I think you’ll see me. In the mean time I’ll not say
a word about spasms in the way of my profession, tho’ as your
friend I must profess myself very sorry. Keats & I are going to call
on MJ Butler & Burton this morning, & to-morrow we shall go
to Sanstead to see Way’s Chapel consecrated by the two Big-
wigs of Gloucester & St. Davids. If that vile Carver & Gilder does
not do me justice. I’ll annoy him all his life with legal expences at
every quarter, if my rent is not sent to the day, & that will not be
revenge enough for the trouble & confusion he has put me to. —
Dilke is remarkably well for Dilke^ in winter. — ^Have you

^ Mrs. Dilke of Chichester, the mother of Keats’s friend.

302

iSig Letter 1 04

heard any thing of John Blagden; he is off! want of business
has made him play the fool, — I am sorry — that Brown and
you are getting so very witty — my modest feathered Pen
frizzles like baby roast beef at making its entrance
among such tantrum sentences — or rather ten senses.
Brown super or supper sirnamed the Sleek has been
getting thinner a little by pining opposite Miss Muggins
— (Brown says Mullins but I beg leave to differ from
him) — ^we sit it out till ten o’Clock — Miss M. has per-
suaded Brown to shave his whiskers — he came down to
Breakfast like the sign of the full Moon — his Profile is
quite alter’d. He looks more like an oman than I ever
could think it possible — and on putting on M""® D[s
Calash the deception was complete especially as his
voice is trebled by making love in the draught of a door
way. I too am metamorphosed — a young oman here in
Bed - - - hampton has over persuaded me to wear my
shirtcollar up to my eyes. M^® Snook I catch smoaking
it every now and then and I believe Brown does — but I
cannot now look sideways. Brown wants to scribble
more^ so I willfinish with a marginal note — ^Viz. Remem-
ber me to Wentworth Place and Elm Cottage — ^not for-
getting Millamant —

Your’s if possible

J. Keats —

This is abominable! I did but go up stairs to put on a clean
& starched hand-kerchief, & that overweening rogue read my
letter, & scrawled over one of my sheets, and given him a
counterpain, — I wish I could blank-it all over and beat him

with a ^certain rod, & have a fresh one bolstered up. Ah !
he may dress me as he likes but he shan’t tickle me
pillow the feathers, — I would not give a tester for such puns,
let us ope brown (erratum — a large B — a Bumble B.)^ will

^ The following words are written up the left hand margin of the
third page.

Of the words in parentheses Brown’s are written down and
Keats’s up the left hand margin on the lower and upper doublings,

303

Letter 105 February

go no further in the Bedroom & not call Mat Snook a relation
to Matt-rass—This is grown to a conclusion — I had excel-
lent puns in my head but one bad one from Brown has
quite upset me but I am quite set-up for more, but I’m content
to be conqueror. Your’s in love,

Cha® Brown.

N.B. I beg leaf {sic\ to withdraw all my Puns— they
are all wash, an base uns.

105. Tb Miss KEATS.

Wentworth Place— Febr. [1819] Thursday.

My dear Fanny,

Your Letter to me at Bedhampton hurt me very
much,— What objection can the[r]e be to your receiving
a Letter from me? At Bedhampton I was unwell and
did not go out of the Garden Gate but twice or thrice
during the fortnight I was there — Since I came back
I have been taking care of myself— I have been obliged
to do so, and am now in hopes that by this care I shall
get rid of a sore throat which has haunted me at
intervals nearly a twelvemonth. I had always a pre-
sentiment of not being able to succeed in persuading
Abbey to let you remain longer at School — I am
very sorry that he will not consent. I recommend you
to keep up all that you know and to learn more by your-
self however little. The time will come when you will
be more pleased with Life — ^look forward to that time
and, though it may appear a trifle, be careful not to let
the idle and retired Life you lead fix any awkward
habit or behaviour on you — ^whether you sit or walk —
endeavour to let it be in a seemely [sic] and if possible a
graceful manner. We have been very little together : but
you have not the less been with me in thought. Y ou have

page 4, respectively. Keats’s ‘N.B.’ is written up the lefthand
margin of the first page.

105. This letter bears no address beyond ‘Miss Keats’ and no
postmark.

304

jSig Letter io6

no one in the world besides me who would sacrifice any
thing for you — I feel myself the only Protector you have.
In all your litde troubles think of me with the thought
that there is at least one person in England who if he
could would help you out of them — I live in hopes of
being able to make you happy — I should not perhaps
write in this manner, if it were not for the fear of not
being able to see you often, or long together. I am in
hopes Abbey will not object any more to your
receiving a letter now and then from me. How un-
reasonable! I want a few more lines from you for
George — there are some young Men, acquaintances of
a Schoolfellow of mine, going out to Birkbeck’s at the
latter end of this Month. I am in expectation every day
of hearing from George — I begin to fear his last letters
Miscarried. I shall be in town tomorrow — ^if you should
not be in town, I shall send this little parcel by the
Walthamstow Coach. I think you will like Goldsmith.
Write me soon Your affectionate Brother

John

M^® Dilke has not been very well — she is gone a walk
to town to day for exercise.

io6. To Miss KEATS, Abbeys Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place Saturday Morn — [Postmark ,
My dear Fanny, 27 February 1819.]

I intended to have not failed to do as you requested,
and write you as you say once a fortnight. On looking
to your letter I find there is no date; and not knowing
how long it is since I received it I do not precisely know
how great a sinner I am. I am getting quite well, and
M"^® Dilke is getting on pretty well. You must pay no
attention to M^® Abbey’s unfeeling and ignorant gabble.
You can’t stop an old woman’s crying more than you
can a Child’s. The old woman is the greatest nuisance
because she is too old for the rod. Many people live
opposite a Bla[c]ksmith’s till they cannot hear the

305

Letter 107 Marc]^

hammer. I have been in Town for- two or three days
and came back last night. I have been a little con-
cerned at not hearing from George — I continue in daily
expectation. Keep on reading and play as much on the
music and the grassplot as you can. I should like to
take possession of those Gras [s] plots for a Month or so;
and send A. to Town to count coffee berries instead
of currant Bunches, for I want you to teach me a few
common dancing steps — and I would buy a Watch box
to practise them in by myself. I think I had better
always pay the postage of these Letters. I shall send
you another book the first time I am in Town early
enough to book it with one of the morning Waltham-
stow Coaches. You did not say a word about your
Chilblains. Write me directly and let me know about
them — ^Your Letter shall be answered like an echo.

Your affectionate Brother
John —

107. To BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Wentworth Place. [Postmark^ 8 March 1819.]
My dear Haydon,

You must be wondering where I am and what I am
about! I am mostly at Hampstead, and about nothing;

107, Haydon’s reply to this letter is preserved in his journal; it
is dated the loth of March and postmarked 1819. It appeared,
in the main, in the ‘Correspondence and Table Talk’; but the
following version is given in full from the manuscript; —

My dear Keats,

I have been long, long convinced of the, paltry subterfuges of
conversation to weaken the effect of unwelcome truth, and have
left company where truth is never found; of this be assured, effect
and effect only, self-consequence and dictatorial controul, are
what those love who shine in conversation, at the expense of truth,
principle, and every thing else which interferes with their appetite
for dominion — temporary dominion. I am most happy you
approve of my last Sunday’s defence, I hope you will like next
equally well. My dear Keats— now I feel the want of your
promised assistance — as soon as it is convenient it would indeed be
a great, the greatest of blessings. I shall come and see you as soon

306

i 8 ig Letter 107

being in a sort of qui bono temper^ not exactly on the
road to an epic poem. Nor must you think I have for-
gotten you. No, I have about every three days been to
Abbey’s and to the Law[y]ers. Do let me know how
you have been getting on, and in what spirits you are.

You got out gloriously in yesterday’s Examiner.
What a set of little people we live amongst! I went the
other day into an ironmonger’s shop — without any
change in my sensations — men and tin kettles are much
the same in these days — they do not study like children
at five and thirty — but they talk like men of twenty.
Conversation is not a search after knowledge, but an
endeavour at effect.

In this respect two most opposite men, Wordsworth
and Hunt, are the same. A friend of mine observed the
other day that if Lord Bacon were to make any remark
in a party of the present day, the conversation would
stop on the sudden. I am convinced of this, and from
this I have come to this resolution — never to write for
the sake of writing or making a poem, but from running
over with any little knowledge or experience which
many years of reflection may perhaps give me; other-
wise I will be dumb. What imagination I have I shall
enjoy, and greatly, for I have experienced the satisfac-
tion of having great conceptions without the trouble of
sonnetteerihg. I will not spoil my love of gloom by
writing an Ode to Darkness 1

With respect to my livelihood, I will not write for it,
— ^for I will not run with that most vulgar of all crowds,
the literary. Such things I ratify by looking upon my-
self, and trying myself at lifting mental weights, as it

as this contest is clear of my hands. I cannot before, every
moment is so precious. — ^Take care of your throat, and believe me
my dear fellow truly and affectionately your Friend —

B. R. Haydon.

At any rate finish your present great intention of a poem — ^it is
as fine a subject as can be — Once more adieu. — ^Before the isoth if
you could help me it would be nectar and manna and all the
blessings of gratified thirst.

307

Letter io8 March

were. I am three and twenty, with little knowledge and
middling intellect. It is true that in the height of
enthusiasm I have been cheated into some fine passages;
but that is not the thing.

I have not been to see you because all my going out
has been to town, and that has been a great deal.
Write soon.

Yours constantly,

John Keats

io8. To Miss KEATS, Ahhefs Esq^^ Walthamstow.

Wentworth Place March 13^^ [1819].

My dear Fanny,

I have been employed lately in writing to George —

I do not send him very short letters — but keep on day
after day. There were some young Men I think I told you
of who were going to the Settlement: they have changed
their minds, and I am disappointed in my expectation
of sending Letters by them — I went lately to the only
dance I have been to these twelve months or shall go to
for twelve months again— it was to our Brother in laws’
cousin’s — She gave a dance for her Birthday and I went
for the sake of M^® Wylie. I am waiting every day to
hear from George. I trust there is no harm in the silence:
other people are in the same expectation as we are. On
looking at your seal I cannot tell whether it is done or
not with a Tassi^e]’^ — ^it seems to me to be paste. As I
went through Leicester Square lately I was going to call
and buy you some, but not knowing but you might
have some I would not run the chance of buying
duplicates. Tell me if you have any or if you would like
any— and whether you would rather have motto ones

^ Tassie’s imitation gems were very popular in Keats’s set.
Shelley writes to Peacock from Pisa, March 21, 1821, to go to
Leicester Square and get him two pounds’ worth, ‘among them,
the head of Alexander’; and Hunt has a laudatory article on them
in one of his publications.

308

Letter io8

like that with which I seal this letter^; or heads of great
Men such as Shakspeare, Milton &c. — or fancy pieces
of Art; such as Fame, Adonis &c. — those gentry you
read of at the end of the English Dictionary. Tell me
also if you want any particular Book; or Pencils, or
drawing paper — any tiling but live stock. Though I
will not now be very severe on it, rememb[e]ring how
fond I used to be of Goldfinches, Tomtits, Minnows,
Mice, Ticklebacks, Dace, Cock salmons and all the
whole tribe of the Bushes and the Brooks: but verily
they are better in the Trees and the water — though I
must confess even now a partiality for a handsome
Globe of gold-fish — then I would have it hold lo pails
of water and be fed continually fresh through a cool
pipe with another pipe to let through the floor — ^well
ventilated they would preserve all their beautiful silver
and Crimson. Then I would put it before a handsome
painted window and shade it all round with myrtles and
Japonicas. I should like the window to open onto the
Lake of Geneva — and there I’d sit and read all day like
the picture of somebody reading. The weather now and
then begins to feel like spring; and therefore I have
begun my walks on the heath again. M"’® Dilke is
getting better than she has been as she has at length
taken a Physician’s advice. She ever and anon asks
after you and always bids me remember her in my
Letters to you. She is going to leave Hampstead for the
sake of educating their son Charles at the Westminster
school. We (M"^ Brown and I) shall leave in the
beginning of may; I do not know what I shall do or
where be all the next Summer. M’^® Reynolds has had
a sick house; but they are all well now. You see what
news I can send you I do — ^we all live one day like the
other as well as you do — ^the only difference is being
sick and well — ^with the variations of single and double
knocks; and the story of a dreadful fire in the News-

^ A lyre, surrounded with the motto:

*Qui me neglige me desole.’

309

n

c

Letter 109 Marche

papers. I mentioned Brown’s name — ^yet I do not
think I ever said a word about him to you. He is a
friend of mine of two years standing, with whom
I walked through Scotland: who has been very kind to
me in many things when I most wanted his assistance
and with whom I keep house till the first of M[ay — y
you will know him some day. The name of [the] ^ young
Man who came with me is William Haslam. Ever,
Your affectionate Brother,
John.

109. To Miss KEATS, Abbeys Esq^^ Pancras Lane^
Queen SK

[Postmark^ Hampstead, 24 March 1819.]

My dear Fanny,

It is impossible for me to call on you to day — ^for
I have particular Business at the other end of the Town
this morning, and must be back to Hampstead with all
speed to keep a long-agreed-on appointment. To-
morrow I shall see you.

Your affectionate Brother
John —

no. To JOSPH SEVERN Esq^® ig Fred\e\rick Place Goswell
Street Road,

Wentworth Place Monday-af^.

My dear Severn,

Your note gave me some pain, not on my own
account, b ut on yours— Of course I should never suffer

^ Paper torn,

no. The subject of this letter places it before the Royal
Academy exhibition of i8ig, in which both the portrait of Keats
^d the picture of ‘Hermia and Helena’ figured. Probably the
last Monday in March (the 29th) would not be far from the date:
mdeed the letter bears an imperfect postmark in which 29 appears
to be the figure for the day; and the 29th of March is the only
feasible Qgth that was a Monday. ‘Hermia and Helena’ figured in
! A catalogue as Nunaber 267, with a quotation from

A Midsmnmer-Night’s Dream’, ni. ii. 203-11. The portrait of
Keats was Number 940 in the catalogue.

310

•iSig Letter 1 1 1

any petty vanity of mine to hinder you in any wise; and
therefore I should say ‘'put the miniature in the exhibi-
tion’ if only myself was to be hurt. But, will it not hurt
you? What good can it do to any future picture. Even
a large picture is lost in that canting place — what a drop
of water in the ocean is a Miniature. Those who might
chance to see it for the most part if they had ever heard
of either of us — and know what we were and of what
years would laugh at the puff of the one and the vanity
of the other. I am however in these matters a very bad
judge — and would advise you to act in a way that
appears to yourself the best for your interest. As your
Hermia and Helena is finished send that without the
prologue of a Miniature. I shall see you soon, if you do
not pay me a visit sooner — there’s a Bull for you.

Yours ever sincerely

John Keats —

III. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place. {Postmark^ 13 April 1819.]
My dear Fanny,

I have been expecting a Letter from you about what
the Parson said to your answers. I have thought also of
writing to you often, and I am sorry to confess that my
neglect of it has been but a small instance of my idleness
of late — ^which has been growing upon me, so that it
will require a great shake to get rid of it. I have written
nothing, and almost read nothing — but I must turn
over a new leaf— One most discouraging thing hinders
me — ^we have no news yet from George — so that I can-
not with any confidence continue the Letter I have been
preparing for him. Many are in the same state with us

III. The postmark is not clear as to the month; but it is the 13th
of some month in 1819; and, since the time is after the removal of
the Dilkes from Hampstead, which took place on the 3rd of April
1819, and before news of the George Keatses had arrived from the
Settlement, as it had done by the 13th of May 1819, there can be
no doubt about April being the right month.

3II G i?

Letter 1 1 1 Aprit

and many have heard from the Settlement. They must
be well however: and we must consider this silence as
good news. I ordered some bulbous roots for you at the
Gardeners, and they sent me some, but they were all in
bud — and could not be sent, so I put them in our
Garden, There are some beautiful heaths now in bloom
in Pots — either heaths or some seasonable plants I will
send you instead — perhaps some that are not yet in
bloom that you may see them come out. Tomorrow
night I am going to a rout, a thing I am not at all in
love with. Mr Dilte and his Family have left Hamp-
stead — I shall dine with them to day in Westminster
where I think I told you they were going to reside for
the sake of sending their son Charles to the - Blue
Westminster School. I think I mentioned the Death
of Haslam’s Father — ^Yesterday week the two
Wylies dined with me. I hope you have good store
of double violets — I think they are the Princesses of
flowers and in a shower of rain, almost as fine as barley
sugar drops are to a schoolboy’s tongue. I suppose this
fine weather the lambs tails give a frisk or two extra-
ordinary— when a boy would cry huzza and a Girl O
my ! a little Lamb frisks its tail. I have not been lately
through Leicester Square — the first time I do I will
remember your Seals. I have thought it best to live in
Town this Summer, chiefly for the sake of books, which "
cannot be had with any comfort in the Country —
besides my Scotch journey gave me a doze of the
Picturesque with which I ought to be contented for
some time. Westminster is the place I have pitched
upon — the City or any place very confined would soon
turn me pale and thin — ^which is to be avoided. You
must make up your mind to get Stout this summer —
indeed I have an idea we shall both be corpu[lent] ^ old
folkes with tripple chins and stum[py] ' thumbs,

Your affectionate Brother

John

^ Paper tom.

312

Letter 112

^8ig

1 12. To BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Tuesday [13 April 1819].

My dear Haydon,

When I offered you assistance I thought I had it in
my hand; I thought I had nothing to do but to do. The
difficulties I met with arose Trom the alertness and
suspicion of Abbey: and especially from the affairs being
still in a Lawyer’s hand — ^who has been draining our
Property for the last six years of every charge he could
make. I cannot do two things at once, and thus this
affair has stopped my pursuits in every way — ^from the
first prospect I had of difficulty. I assure you I have
harassed myself ten times more than if I alone had been
concerned in so much gain or loss. I have also ever told
you the exact particulars as well as and as literally as any
hopes or fear could translate them: for it was only by

1 12. This letter is clearly a reply to the following note from
Haydon: —

My dear Keats, Monday

Why did you hold out such delusive hopes every letter on such
slight foundations? — ^You have led me on step by step, day by day;
never telling me the exact circumstances; you paralyzed my
exertions in other quarters — and now when I find it is out of your
power to do what your heart led you to offer — I am plunged into
all my old difficulties with scarcely any time to prepare for them —
indeed I cannot help telling you this — because if you could not
have commanded it you should have told me so at once. I declare
to you I scarcely know which way to turn —

I am dear Keats
Yours ever

B. R. Haydon

I am sensible of the trouble you took — I am grateful for it, but
upon my Soul I cannot help complaining because the result has
been so totally unexpected and sudden — and I am floundering

where I hoped to be firm. Don’t mistake me — I am as attached

to you as much and more than to any man — but really you don’t
know how [you] may affect me by not letting me know earlier.

The Postmark of Haydon’s letter is the 13 th of April 1819 (a
Tuesday, though the letter is headed Monday); so the date of
Keats’s must be the 13th, I presume. The two letters are wafered
into Haydon’s journal together.

313

Letter 112 April

p3.rccls tli3.t I found. 3.11 those petty obstacles which for my
own sake should not exist a moment— and yet why not —
for from my own imprudence and neglect all my accounts
are entirely in my Guardian’s Power. This has taught
me a Lesson. Hereafter I will be more correct. I find
myself possessed of much less than I thought for and
now if I had all on the table all I could do would be to
take from it a moderate two years subsistence and lend
you the rest; but I cannot say how soon I could become
possessed of it. This would be no sacrifice nor any
matter worth thinking of — much less than parting as I
have more than once done with little sums which might
have gradually formed a library to my taste. These
sums amount together to nearly 20o[;^]5 which I have
but a chance of ever being repaid or paid at a very
distant period. I am humble enough to put this in
writing from the sense I have of your struggling situa-
tion and the great desire that you should [do] me
the justice to credit me the unostentatious and willing
state of my nerves on all such occasions. It has not been
my fault. I am doubly hurt at the slightly reproachful
tone of your note and at the occasion of it, — ^for it must
be some other disappointment; you seem’d so sure of
some important help when I last saw you — now you
have maimed me again; I was whole, I had began
reading again — ^when your note came I was engaged in
a Book. I dread as much as a Plague the idle fever of
two months more without any fruit. I will walk over the
first fine day: then see what aspect your affairs have
taken, and if they should continue gloomy walk into
the City to Abbey and get his consent for I am per-
suaded that to me alone he will not concede a jot.

314

^i8ig Letter

1 13. To Miss KEATSj Abbey s Esq^’^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place Saturday — [17 April 1819?]

My dear Fanny,

If it were but six o’ Clock in the morning I would set
off to see you today: if I should do so now I could not
stop long enough for a how d’ye do — it is so long a walk
through Hornsey and Tottenham — and as for Stage
Coaching it besides that it is very expensive it is like
going into the Boxes by way of the pit — I cannot go out
on Sunday — but if on Monday it should promise as
fair as to day I will put on a pair of loose easy palatable
boots and me rendre chez vous. I continue increasing
my letter to George^ to send it by one of Birkbeck’s sons
who is going out soon — so if you will let me have a few
more lines, they will be in time — I am glad you got on
so well with Mens'", le Cure— is he a nice Clergyman—
a great deal depends upon a cock’d hat and powder —
not gun powder, lord love us, but lady-meal, violet-
smooth, dainty-scented [,] lilly- white, feather-soft, wigs-
by dressing, coat-collar-spoiling[,] whisker-reaching, pig-
tail - loving, swans - down - puffing, p arson - sweetening
powder — -I shall call in passing at the tottenham
nursery and see if I can find some seasonable plants for
you. That is the nearest place — or by our la’km or lady
kin, that is by the virgin Mary’s kindred, is there not a
twig-manufacturer in Walthamstow? M^ & M'"® Dilke
are coming to dine with us to day — they will enjoy the
country after Westminster — O there is nothing like fine
weather, and health, and Books, and a fine country, and
a contented Mind, and Diligent habit of reading and
thinking, and an amulet against the ennui — and, please

1 13. The holograph of this letter was given by Mrs, Llanos to
Mr. Frederick Locker, afterwards Locker-Lampson. It is now in
the Harvard College Library.

^ The reference is to the joximal letter following this (No. 1 14),
which was not finished till the 3rd of May, though begun in
February.

315

Letter 113 Aprils

heaven^ a little claret-wine cool out of a cellar a mile
deep^ — ^with a few or a good many ratafia cakes —
a rocky basin to bathe in, a strawberry bed to say your
prayers to Flora^ in, a pad nag to go you ten miles or
so; two or three sensible people to chat with; two or
th[r]ee spiteful folkes to spar with; two or three odd
fishes to laugh at and two or three numskul[l]s to
argue with — instead of using dumb bells on a rainy
day —

Two or three Posies
With two or three simples
Two or three Noses
With two or th[r]ee pimples
Two or three wise men
And two or three ninny’s
Two or three purses
And two or three guineas
Two or three raps
At two or three doors
Two or three naps
Of two or three hours —

Two or three Cats
And two or three mice
Two or three sprats
At a very great price —

Two or three sandies
And two or three tabbies
Two or three dandies —

And two mum!

Two or three Smiles
And two or three frowns
Two or th[r]ee Miles
To two or three towns

^ Cf. ‘Ode to a Nightingale’, 11. 11-13.

316

i 8 ig Letter 114

Two or tliree pegs
For two or three bonnets
Two or three dove eggs
To hatch into sonnets —

Good bye Fve an appointment — can’t
stop pon word — good bye — now dont
get up — open the door myself—
go-o-od bye — see ye Monday

J. K.

1 14. To GEORGE AND GEORGIANA KEATS.

[Wentworth Place] Sunday Morn, Feby. 14th 1819.
My Dear Brother and Sister:

How is it we have not heard from you from the
Settlement yet? The letters must surely have miscarried.
I am in expectation every day. Peachey wrote me a few
days ago, saying some more acquaintances of his were
preparing to set out for Birkbeck; therefore, I shall take
the opportunity of sending you what I can muster in
a sheet or two, I am still at Wentworth Place — ^indeed,
I have kept indoors lately, resolved if possible to rid
myself of my sore throat; consequently, I have not been
to see your mother since my return from Chichester;
but my absence from her has been a great weight upon
me. I say since my return from Chichester — I believe
I told you I was going thither. I was nearly a fortnight
at M^ John Snook’s and a few days at old M’^ Dilke’s.^

1 14. Of this important letter the sheets of the holograph have
been more or less distributed. The sheets now in Lord Crewe’s
collection begin with the new paragraph dated ‘Friday Feby 18’,
For the opening it is necessary to rely on the Houghton-Jeffrey
version and that adopted in Mr. Speed’s Selection. That opening
was greatly retrenched and altered when first published by Lord
Houghton. Mr. Speed says that his grandmother’s second husband,
Mr. John Jeffrey, who transcribed it for Lord Houghton, did not
exercise a very wise discretion in his manipulations.

* Mr. Dilke notes, ‘He went with Brown on a visit to my father’s
at Chichester and my sister’s at Bedhampton’. Mr. Speed reads
‘Snooks’s’.

317

Letter 114 February

Nothing worth speaking of happened at either place.
I took down some thin paper and wrote on it a little
poem call’d St. Agnes’ Eve, which you shall have as it is
when I have finished the blank part of the rest for you.
I went out twice at Chichester to dowager Card parties.
I see very litde now, and very few persons, being almost
tired of men and things. Brown and Dilke are very kind
and considerate towards me. The Miss R’s have been
stopping next door lately, but are very dull. Miss
Brawne and I have every now and then a chat and a tiff.
Brown and Dilke are walking round their garden, hands
in pockets, making observations. The literary world
I know nothing about. There is a poem from Rogers^
dead bom; and another satire is expected from Byron,
called 'Don Giovanni’. Yesterday I went to town for
the first time for these three weeks. I met people from
all parts and of all sets — M^ Towers,^ one of the Holts,
M"" Dominie Williams, M"' Woodhouse, M""® Hazlitt and
son, M^® Webb, and M^® Septimus Brown. M^ Wood-
house was looking up at a book window in Newgate
street, and, being short-sighted, twisted his muscles into
so queer a stage that I stood by in doubt whether it was
him or his brother, if he has one, and turning round,
saw M""® Hazlitt, with that little Nero, her son.^ Wood-
house, on his features subsiding, proved to be Wood-
house, and not his brother. I have had a little business
with M"* Abbey from time to time; he has behaved to
me with a little Brusquerie: this hurt me a little,
especially when I knew him to be the only man in
England who dared to say a thing to me I did not
approve of without its being resented, or at least

* ‘Human Life.’

^ Charles Cowdenaarke had lodged at the house of his brother-
in-law, Mr. Towers, in Warner Street, Glerkenwell.

^ This seems more likely to be right than the Houghton-Jeffrey
version, ‘saw Hazlitt, with his son’. In that version also Wood-
house figures as twisting his muscles into ‘so queer a style\ which is
certainly more likely to be what Keats wrote than stage, though
shape is likelier still.

318

i 8 ig Letter 1 14

noticed — so I wrote him about it, and have made an
alteration in my favour — I expect from this to see more
of Fanny, who has been quite shut up from me. I see
Cobbett has been attacking the Settlement,^ but I can-
not tell what to believe, and shall be all at elbows till
I hear from you. I am invited to Miss Millar’s birthday
dance on the 19th. I am nearly sure I shall not be able
to go. A dance would injure my throat very much.
I see very little of Reynolds. Hunt, I hear is going on
very badly — I mean in money matters. I shall not be
surprised to hear of the worst. Haydon too, in conse-
quence of his eyes, is out at elbows. I live as prudently as it
is possible for me to do. I have not seen Haslam lately.
I have not seen Richards for this half year. Rice for three
months, or Charles Cowden Clarke for God knows when.

When I last called in Henrietta Street^ Miss Millar was
very unwell, and Miss Waldegrave as staid and self-
possessed as usual. Henry was well. There are two
new tragedies — one by the apostate Maw,^ and one"^ by
Miss Jane Porter. Next week I am going to stop at
Taylor’s for a few days, when I will see them both and
tell you what they are. M^® and M^ Bentley are well,
and all the young carrots. I said nothing of conse-
quence passed at Snook’s — no more than this — that
I like the family very much. M’^ and Snook were
very kind. We used to have a little religion and politicks
together almost every evening, — and sometimes about
you. He proposed writing out for me his experience
in farming, for me to send to you. If I should have an

^ In ‘Letters to Morris Birkbeck’ in the ‘Political Register’,
February 1819, reprinted in ‘A Year’s Residence in the United
States,’ Part III, 1819. ^ i. e. at Mrs. Wylie’s.

3 The holograph of this part of the letter is not extant so far as
I know, but Keats probably wrote ‘the apostate Man’ (not Maw)
meaning Richard Lalor Shell whose play The Apostate was produced
at Govent Garden on 3 May 1817. Shed’s Evadne^ the tragedy
here referred to, if my assumption is correct, was first given at
Govent Garden on 10 February 1819. Keats went to see it and
criticizes it later in this letter. — ^M.B.F.

^ ‘Switzerland’, performed at Drury Lane, 15 February 1819.

319

Letter 11^ February

opportunity of talking to him about it, I will get all I
can at all events; but you may say in your answer to this
what value you place upon such information. I have
not seen M" Lewis' lately, for I have shrunk from going
up the hill. M'* Lewis went a few mornings ago to town
with M'’® Brawne. They talked about me, and I heard
that M'’ L.^ said a thing that I am not at all contented
with. Says he, ‘O, he is quite the little poet’. Now this
is abominable. You might as well say Buonaparte is
quite the litde soldier. You see what it is to be under
six foot and not a lord. There is a long fuzz to-day in
the Examiner^ about a young man who delighted a
young woman with a valentine — I think it must be
Ollier’s. Brown and I are thinking of passing the
summer at Brussels. If we do, we shall go about the
first of May. We — i,e. Brown and I — sit opposite one
another all day authorizing. (N.B., an ^s’ instead of
a ^z’ would give a different meaning.^) He is at present
writing a story of an old woman who lived in a forest,
and to whom the Devil or one of his aid-de-feus came
one night very late and in disguise. The old dame sets
before him pudding after pudding — mess after mess —
which he devours, and moreover casts his eyes up at
a side of Bacon hanging over his head, and at the same
time asks whether her Cat is a Rabbit. On going he
leaves her three pips of Eve’s Apple, and somehow she,
having lived a virgin all her life, begins to repent of it,
and wished herself beautiful enough to make all the
world and even the other world fall in love with her.
So it happens, she sets out from her smoky cottage in

* David Lewis, a Hampstead resident, see also Letters 89, 93
and 164, pp, 257, 268, 501; and again in this letter, p. 323.

= and in the next line ‘she’ in the old version.

3 Actually it was Lamb’s essay on ‘Valentine’s Day’, afterwards
reprinted in the ‘Essays of Elia’, 1823.

4 This is a strange delusion of Keats’s: to spell authoiize with an
s would not of course make it mean to give authority, nor to spell
it with a justify its use for to act the author as Keats and Brown
were doing.

320

iSig Letter 114

magnificent apparel. — The first city she enters, every
one falls in love with her, from the Prince to the Black-
smith. A young gentleman on his way to the Church to
be married leaves his unfortunate Bride and follows
this nonsuch. A whole regiment of soldiers are smitten
at once and follow her. A whole convent of Monks in
Corpus Christi procession join the soldiers. The mayor
and corporation follow the same road. Old and young,
deaf and dumb — all but the blind, — are smitten, and
form an immense concourse of people, who — what
Brown will do with them I know not. The devil him-
self falls in love with her, flies away with her to a desert
place, in consequence of which she lays an infinite
number of eggs — the eggs being hatched from time to
time, fill the world with many nuisances, such as
John Knox, George Fox, Johanna Southcote, and
Gifford.

There have been within a fortnight eight failures of
the highest consequence in London. Brown went a few
evenings since to Davenport’s, and on his coming in he
talked about bad news in the city with such a face I
began to think of a national bankruptcy. I did not feel
much surprised and was rather disappointed. Carlisle,^
a bookseller on the Hone principle, has been issuing
pamphlets from his shop in Fleet Street called the Deist.
He was conveyed to Newgate last Thursday; he intends
making his own defence. I was surprised to hear from
Taylor the amount of Murray the bookseller’s last sale.^
What think you of £ 2 ^^ 000 ! He sold 4000 copies of
Lord Byron. I am sitting opposite the Shakspeare
I brought from the isle of Wight — and I never look at it
but the silk tassels^ on it give me as much pleasure as the
face of the poet itself.

^ Richard Carlile (1790-1843).

^ Mr. Speed and Sir Sidney Colvin read ‘the amount of money
of the booksellers’ last sale’. Very likely Keats spelt Murray with
a small m.

3 The portrait had been decorated with silk tassels by his sister-
in-law, before she left England.

321

Letter 114 February

In my next packet, as this is one by the way, I shall
send you my Pot of Basil, St. Agnes’ Eve, and if I should
have finished it, a little thing called the Eve of St. Mark.
You see what fine Mother Radcliffe^ names I have — it is
not my fault — I do not search for them. I have not gone
on with Hyperion, for to tell the truth I have not been
in great cue for writing lately — I must wait for the
spring to rouse me up a little. The only time I went out
from Bedhampton was to see a chapel consecrated —
Brown, I, and John Snook the boy,^ went in a chaise
behind a leaden horse. Brown drove, but the horse did
not mind him. This chapel is built by a M^ Way,^
a great Jew converter, who in that line has spent one
hundred thousand pounds. He maintains a great
number of poor Jews — Of course his communion plate was
stolen. He spoke to the clerk about it. The clerk said he
was very sorry, adding, dare shay^ your honour, ifs
among usk\

The chapel is built in Way’s park. The consecra-
tion was not amusing. There were numbers of carriages
— and his house crammed with clergy. They sanctified
the chapel, and it being a wet day, consecrated the
burial-ground through the vestry window. I begin to
hate parsons; they did not make me love them that day,
when I saw them in their proper colours. A parson is
a Lamb in a drawing-room, and a Lion in a vestry. The
notions of Society v^l not permit a parson to give way
to his temper in any shape— so he festers in himself— his
features get a^ peculiar, diabolical, self-sufficient, iron
stupid expression. He is continually acting — ^his mind ^
is against every man, and every man’s mind is against

^ Cf. Letter 5L P- 123, for ‘Damosel Radcliffe’.

® Mr. John Snook of Belmont Castle (‘the boy’) died on the
1st of February 1887.

2 F rom Brown’s part of the joint letter written by him and Keats
to Mr. and Mrs. Dilke on the 24th of January 1819 (Letter 104),
it appears that the consecration was fixed for the 25th, to be per-
formed by the Bishops of Gloucester and St. Davids, and that the
chapel was at a place called Sanstead.

322

Letter 11^

him. He is an hypocrite to the Believer and a coward
to the unbeliever. He must be either a knave or an idiot
— and there is no man so much to be pitied as an idiot
parson. The soldier who is cheated into an Esprit de
Corps by a red coat, a band, and colours, for the purpose
of nothing, is not half so pitiable as the parson who is led
by the nose by the bench of bishops and is smothered in
absurdities — a poor necessary subaltern of the Church.

Friday Feb^ i 8 ^ . — The day before yesterday I went to
Romney Street — ^your Mother was not at home — but I
have just written her that I shall see her on Wednesday.
I call’d on Lewis this morning — ^he is very well — and
tells me not to be uneasy about Letters the chances
being so arbit[r]ary. He is going on as usual among his
favorite democrat papers. We had a chat as usual about
Cobbett : and the Westminster electors. Dilke has lately
been very much harrassed about the manner of educa-
ting his Son — ^he at length decided for a public school —
and then he did not know what school — he at last has
decided for Westminster; and as Charley is to be a day
boy, Dilke will remove to Westminster. We lead very
quiet lives here — Dilke is at present in greek histories
and antiquit [i]es, and talks of nothing but the electors
of Westminster and the retreat of the ten-thousand. I
never drink now above three glasses of wine — and never
any spirits and water. Though by the bye the other day
— ^Woodhouse took me to his coffee house and ordered
a Bottle of Claret — ^now I like Claret, whenever I can
have Claret I must drink it, — ’tis the only palate affair
that I am at all sensual in.^ Would it not be a good Speck
to send you some vine roots — could I [for it] be done?
I’ll enquire. If you could make some wine like Claret
to drink on Summer evenings in an arbour! For really
’tis so fine — ^it fills the mouth one’s mouth with a
gushing freshness — then goes down cool and feverless —
then you do not feel it quar[r]eUing with your liver — ^no

^ Feb. 1 8 was a Thursday.

^ Cf. ‘Ode to a Nightingale’, stanza 2.

323

Letter 114 : February

it is rather a Peace maker and lies as quiet as it did in
the grape; — then it is as fragrant as the Queen Bee, and
the more ethereal Part of it mounts into the braiii, not
assaulting the cerebral apartments like a bully in a
bad-house looking for his trul[l] and hurrying from door
to door bouncing against the waistcoat [for wainscot] ,
but rather walks like Alad[d]in about his enchanted
palace so gently that you do not feel his step. Other
wines of a heavy and spirituous nature transform a Man
to a Silenus: this makes him a Hermes— -and gives a
Woman the soul and im[m]ortality of Ariadne, for
whom Bacchus always kept a good cellar of claret —
and even of that he could never persuade her to take
above two cups. I said this same Claret is the only
palate-passion I have[ — ]I forgot game— I must plead
guilty to the breast of a Partridge, the back of a
hare, the backbone of a grouse, the wing and side of
a Pheasant and a Woodcock passim. Talking of game
(I wish I could make it) the Lady whom I met at
Hastings and of whom I said something in my last I
think,^ has lately made me many presents of game, and
enabled me to make as many. She made me take home
a Pheasant the other day which I gave to M""® DUke: on
which to-morrow. Rice, Reynolds and the Wentworth-
ians will dine next door. The next I intend for your
Mother. These moderate sheets of paper are much
more pleasant to write upon than those large thin sheets
which I hope you by this time have received — though
that cant be now I think of it. I have not said in any
Letter yet a word about my affairs — ^in a word I am in
no despair about them — my poem has not at all
succeeded — ^in the course of a year or so I think I shall
try the public again — ^in a selfish point of view I should
suffer my pride and my contempt of public opinion to
hold me silent — ^but for your’s and fanny’s sake I wiU
pluck up a spirit and try again. I have no doubt of
success in a course of years if I persevere — but it must

' Actually the last but one. See Letter 89, pp. 260, 261.

324

xSig Letter 114

be patience — ^for the Reviews have enervated and made
indolent mens minds — few think for themselves. These
Reviews too are getting more and more powerful, and
especially the Quarterly — they are like a superstition
which the more it prostrates the Crowd and the longer
it continues the more powerful it becomes just in pro-
portion to their increasing weakness. I was in hopes
that when people saw, as they must do now, all the
trickery and iniquity of these Plagues they would scout
them, but no they are like the spectators at the West-
minster cock-pit — they like the battle and do not care
who wins or who looses. Brown is going on this morning
with the story of his old woman and the Devil. He
makes but slow progress. The fact is it is a Libel on the
Devil and as that person is Brown’s Muse, look ye, if he
libels his own Muse how can he expect to write. Either
Brown or his muse must turn tale [^zV]. Yesterday was
Charley Dilke’s birth day. Brown and I were invited to
tea. During the evening nothing passed worth notice
but a little conversation between M"^® Dilke and M^®
Brawne. The subject was the Watchman. It was ten
o’clock, and M^® Brawne who lived during the summer
in Brown’s house and now lives in the Road, recognized
her old Watchman’s voice and said that he came as far
as her now: ‘indeed’ said M"^® D. ‘does he turn the
Corner?’ There have been some Letters pass between
me and Haslam: but I have not seen him lately — the
day before yesterday — ^which I made a day of Business
— I call’d upon him — he was out as usual. Brown has
been walking up and down the room a breeding — now
at this moment he is being delivered of a couplet — and
I dare say will be as well as can be expected. — Gracious
— ^he has twins!

I have a long story to tell you about Bailey — I will
say first the circumstances as plainly and as well as I
can remember, and then I will make my comment.
You know that Bailey was very much cut up about a
little Jilt in the country somewhere. I thought he was

325

n

D

Letter 114 February

in a dying state about it when at Oxford with him:
little supposing as I have since heard that he was at that
very time making impatient Love to Marian [e] Reynolds
—and guess my astonishment at hearing after this that
he had been trying at Miss Martin. So Matters have
been. So Matters stood— when he got ordained and
went to a Curacy near Carlisle, where the family of the
Gleigs reside. There his susceptible heart was con-
quered by Miss Gleig— and thereby all his connections
in town have been annulled — ^both male and female.
I do not now remember clearly the facts. These how-
ever I know — He showed his correspondence with
Marian[e] to Gleig— retur[n]ed all her Letters and asked
for his own — he also wrote very abrubt Letters to
Reynolds. I do not know any more of the Martin
affair than I have written above. No doubt his conduct
has been very bad. The great thing to be considered is
— ^whether it is want of delicacy and principle or want
of knowledge and polite experience. And again Weak-
ness-yes that is it — and the want of a Wife— yes that is
it — and then Marian [e] made great Bones of him although
her Mother and sister have teased her very much about
it. Her conduct has been very upright throughout the
whole affair — She liked Bailey as a Brother — but not as
a Husband — especially as he used to woo her with the
Bible and Jeremy Taylor under his arm — they walked
in no grove but Jeremy Taylors.^ Marian[e’]s obstinacy
is some excuse — but his so quickly taking to miss Gleig
can have no excuse — except that of a Ploughman who
wants a wife. The thing which sways me more against
him than any thing else is Rice’s conduct on the
occasion; Rice would not make an immature resolve:
he was ardent in his friendship for Bailey, he examined
the whole for and against minutely; and he has
abandoned Bailey entirely. All this Tam not supposed
by the Reynoldses to have any hint of. It will be a good

^ ‘Golden Grove’ (1655), a manual of devotional prose and
verse, by Jeremy Taylor.

326

i 8 ig Letter 114

Lesson to the Mother and Daughters — nothing would
serve but Bailey. If you mentioned the word Tea pot
some one of them came out with an a propos about
Bailey — noble fellow — fine fellow! was always in their
mouths — this may teach them that the man who redi-
cules {sic\ romance is the most romantic of Men — that
he who abuses women and slights them loves them the
most — that he who talks of roasting a Man alive would
not do it when it came to the push — and above all, that
they are very shallow people who take every thing
literally. A Man’s life of any worth is a continual
allegory, and very few eyes can see the Mystery of his
life — a life like the scriptures, figurative — ^which such
people can no more make out than they can the hebrew
Bible. Lord Byron cuts a figure — but he is not figurative \
— Shakspeare led a life of Allegory: his works are the f
comments on it.

March 12. Friday. I went to town yesterday chiefly
for the purpose of seeing some young Men who were to
take some Letters for us to you — through the medium of
Peachey. I was surprised and disappointed at hearing
they had changed their minds, and did not purpose
going so far as Birkbeck’s.^ I was much disappointed,
for I had counted upon seeing some persons who were
to see you — and upon your seeing some who had seen
me — I have not only lost this opportunity — but the sail
of the Post-Packet to new york or Philadelphia — by
which last your Brothers^ have sent some Letters. The
weather in town yesterday was so stifling that I could
not remain there though I wanted much to see Kean in
Hotspur. I have by me at present Hazlitt’s Letter to
Gifford^ — perhaps you would like an extract or two
from the high-season’d parts. It begins thus ^Sir, You
‘have an ugly trick of saying what is not true of any one

^ Cf. Letter 108, p. 308. ^ i. e. Georgiana’s brothers.

3 ‘A Letter to William Gifford Esq.’ (1819). There is another
edition dated 1820; and Extracts from the work are appended to
Leigh Hunt’s poem ‘Ultra-Crepidarius’ (1823).

327

D 2

Letter 11^

‘you do not like; and it will be the object of this Letter
‘to cure you of it. You say what you please of others;
‘it is time you were told what you are. In doing this
‘give me leave to borrow the familiarity of your style: —
‘for the fidelity of the picture I shall be answerable.
‘You are a little person but a considerable cat’s paw;
‘and so far worthy of notice. Your clandestine connec-
‘tion with persons high in office constantly influences
‘your opinions, and alone gives importance to them.
‘You are the government critic, a character nicely
‘differing from that of a government spy— the invisible
‘link that connects literature with the Police.’ Again
— ‘Your employers, M'' Gifford, do not pay their
‘hirelings for nothing— for condescending to notice weak
‘and wicked sophistry; for pointing out to contempt
‘what excites no admiration; for cautiously selecting
‘a few specimens of bad taste and bad grammar where
‘nothing else is to be found. They want your invincible
‘pertness, your mercenary malice, your impenetrable
‘dullness, yom: barefaced impudence, your pragmatical
‘self-sufficiency, your hypocritical zeal, your pious
‘frauds to stand in the gap of their Prejudices and pre-
‘tensions, to fly blow and taint public opinion, to defeat
‘independent efforts, to apply not the touch of the
‘scorpion but the touch of the Torpedo to youthful
‘hopes, to crawl and leave the slimy track of sophistry
‘and lies over every work that does not “dedicate its
‘ “sweet leaves”' to some Luminary of the tre[a]sury
‘bench, oris notfostered in the hotbedofcorruption. This
‘is your office; “this is what is look’d for at your hands,
‘ “and this you do not baulk”^ — ^to sacrifice what little
‘honesty and prostitute what little intellect you possess
‘to any dirty job you are commission’d to execute.
‘ “They keep you as an ape does an apple in the comer
‘ “of his jaw, JSrst mouth’d to be at last swallow’d.”^
‘You are by appointment literary toadeater to greatness

‘ Cf. ‘Romeo and Juliet’, i. i. 157-8.

* Cf. ‘Twelfth Night’, m. ii. 26—7.

328

3 ‘Hzunlet’, iv. ii. ig, 20.

^^^9 Letter 114

'and taster to the court. You have a natural aversion
'to whatever differs from your own pretensions, and an
'acquired one for what gives offence to your superiors.
'Your vanity panders to your interest, and your malice
'truckles only to your love of Power. If your instinctive
'or premeditated abuse of your enviable trust were
'found wanting in a single instance; if you were to
'make a single slip in getting up your select committee of
'enquiry and ^een bag report of the state of Letters,
'your occupation would be gone. You would never
'after obtain a squeeze of the hand from a great man,
'or a smile from a Punk of Quality. The great and
'powerful (whom you call wise and good) do not like
'to have the privacy of their self love startled by the
'obtrusive and unmanageable claims of Literature and
'Philosophy, except through the intervention of people
'like you, whom, if they have common penetration, they
'soon find out to be without any superiority of intellect;
'or if they do not, whom they can despise for their mean-
'ness of soul. You "have the office opposite to saint
' " Peter. You "keep a comer in the public mind, for
' "foul prejudice and corrupt power to knot and gender
' "in’’^; you volunteer your services to people of quality
'to ease scruples of mind and qualmes of conscience; you
'lay the flattering unction^ of venal prose and laurell’d
'verse to their souls. You persuade them that there is
'neither purity of morals, nor depth of understanding
‘except in themselves and their hangers on; and would
'prevent the unhallow’d names of Liberty and humanity
'from ever being whispered in ears polite! You, sir, do
'you not all this? I cry you mercy then: I took you for^
'the Editor of the Quarterly Review!’ This is the sort of
feu de joie he keeps up — there is another extract or two
— one especially which I will copy tomorrow — ^for the
candles are burnt down and I am using the wax taper —
which has a long snuff on it — the fire is at its last click

^ ‘Othello’, IV. ii. 90. * ‘Othello’, iv. ii. 6i.

3 ‘Hamlet’, m. iv. 145. * ‘Othello’, rv. ii. 87-8.

329

Letter 1 1 March

— I am sitting with my back to it with one foot rather
askew upon the rug and the other with the heel a little
elevated from the carpet — I am writing this on the
Maid’s tragedy which I have read since tea with Great
pleasure. Besides this volume ofBeaumont and Fletcher^
— there are on the table two volumes of chaucer and
a new work of Tom Moore called Tom Cribb’s
memorial to Congress’^ — ^nothing in it. These are trifles
but I require nothing so much of you as that you will
give me a like description of yourselves, however it may
be when you are writing to me. Could I see the same
thing done of any great Man long since dead it would be
a great delight: As to know in what position Shak-
speare sat when he began To be or not to be’ — such
things become interesting from distance of time or place.
I hope you are both now in that sweet sleep which no
two beings deserve more that [for than] you do — I must
fancy you so — and please myself in the fancy of speaking
a prayer and a blessing over you and your lives — God
bless you — I whisper good night in your ears and you
will dream of me.

Saturday 13 March [1819]. I have written to Fanny ^
this morning and received a note from Haslam. I was
to have dined with him to morrow: he gives me a bad
account of his Father who has not been in Town for
5 weeks — and is not well enough for company — Haslam
is well — and from the prosperous state of some love
aSair he does not mind the double tides he has to work.
I have been a Walk past westend — and was going to call
at M^ Monkhouse’s — but I did not, not being in the
humour. I know not why Poetry and I have been so
distant lately — I must make some advances soon or she
will cut me entirely. Hazlitt has this fine Passage in his
Letter: Gifford, in his Review of Hazlitt’ s characters of
Shakspeare’s plays, attacks the Goriolanus critique. He

^ In which he wrote the ode, ‘Bards of Passion and of Mirth’,

Gf. Letter 161, 17 Jan. 1820, and note.

3 i.e. Letter 108.

330

iSig Letter 114

says that Hazlitt has slandered Shakspeare in saying
that he had a leaning to the arbitrary side of the ques-
tion. Hazlitt thus defends himself ‘My words are[:]
Goriolanus is a storehouse of political commonplaces.
The Arguments for and against aristocracy and de-
mocracy on the Privileges of the few and the claims
of the many, on Liberty and slavery, power and the
abuse of it, peace and war, are here very ably
handled, with the spirit of a poet and the acuteness
of a Philosopher. Shakspeare himself seems to have
had a leaning to the arbitrary side of the question,
perhaps from some feeling of contempt for his own
origin, and to have spared no occasion of bating the
rabble. What he says of them is very true; what he says
of their betters is also very true^ though he dwells less upon it,
I then proceed to account for this by showing how it is
that “the cause of the people is but little calculated for
a subject for Poetry; or that the language of Poetry
naturally falls in with the language of power.” I
affirm. Sir, that Poetry, that the imagination, generally
speaking, delights in power, in strong excitement, as
well as in truth, in good, in right, whereas pure reason
and the moral sense approve only of the true and good.
I proceed to show that this general love or tendency to
immediate excitement or theatrical effect, no matter
how produced, gives a Bias to the imagination often
[in] consistent with the greatest good, that in Poetry it
triumphs over Principle, and bribes the passions to
make a sacrifice of common humanity. You say that
it does not, that there is no such original Sin in Poetry,
that it makes ilo such sacrifice or unworthy com-
promise between poetical effect and the still sm^l voice
of reason. And how do you prove that there is no such
principle giving a bias to the imagination, and a false
colouring to poetry? Why by asking in reply to the
instances where this principle operates, and where no
other can with much modesty and simplicity — “But are
these the only topics that afford delight in Poetry &c[?]”

331

Letter 11^ ^o,rch

No; but these objects do afford delight in poetry, and
they afford it in proportion to their strong and often
tragical effect, and not in proportion to the ^ good
produced, or their desirableness in a moral point of
view? [i'ir] Do we read with more pleasure of the ravages
of a beast of prey than of the Shepherds pipe upon
the Mountain? No but we do read with pleasure of the
ravages of a beast of prey, and we do so on the principle
I have stated, namely from the sense of power abstracted
from the sense of good; and it is the same principle that
makes us read with admiration and reconciles us in fact
to the triumphant progress of the conquerors and
mighty Hunters of mankind, who come to stop the
Shepherd’s Pipe upon the Mountains and sweep away
his listening flock. Do you mean to deny that there is
any thing imposing to the imagination in power, in
grandeur, in outward shew, in the accumulation of
individual wealth and luxury, at the expense of equal
justice and the common weal? Do you deny that there
is anything in the ‘Tride, Pomp, and Circumstance of
glorious war, that makes ambition virtue”^ in the eyes
of admiring multitudes? Is this a new theory of the
Pleasures of the imagination, which says that the
pleasures of the imagination do not take rise solely in
the calculations of the understanding? Is it a paradox
of my creating that “one murder makes a villain,
millions a Hero !” ^ or is it not true, that here as in
other cases, the enormity of the evil overpowers and
makes a convert of the imagination by its very magni-
tude? You contradict my reasoning, because you know
nothing of the question, and you think that no one has
a right to understand what you do not. My offence
against purity in the passage alluded to “which con-
tains the concentrated venom of my malignity,” is,
that I have admitted that there are t^ants and slaves
abroad in the world; and you would hush the matter

' ‘Othello’, m. iii. 355, 351.

Beilby Porteus (1731-1808), ‘Death’, 1 . 155.

332

iSig Letter 114

up, and pretend that there is no such thing in order
that there may be nothing else. Farther I have
explained the cause, the subtle sophistry of the human
mind, that tolerates and pampers the evil in order to
guard against its approaches; you would conceal the
cause in order to prevent the cure, and to leave the
proud flesh about the heart to harden and ossify into
one impenetrable mass of selfishness and h'^’pocrisy,
that we may not ^‘sympathise in the distresses of suffer-
ing virtue’’ in any case in which they come in com-
petition with the fictitious wants and “imputed weak-
nesses of the great.” You ask “are we gratified by
the cruelties of Domitian or Nero?” No not we —
they were too petty and cowardly to strike the imagina-
tion at a distance; but the Roman senate tolerated
them, addressed their perpetrators, exalted them into
gods, the fathers of the [for their] people, they had pimps
and scribblers of all sorts in their pay, their Senecas, &c.,
till a turbulent rabble thinking there were no injuries
to Society greater than the endurance of unlimited and
wanton oppression, put an end to the farce and abated
the nuisance as well as they could. Had you and I
lived in those times we should have been what we are
now, “a sour mal content,” and you “a sweet
courtier.” The manner in which this is managed:
the force and innate power with which it yeasts and
works up itself— the feeling for the costume of society;
is in a style of genius. He hath a demon, as he himself
says of Lord Byron. We are to have a party this evening.
The Davenports from Church row — I dont think you
know anything of them— they have paid me a good
deal of attention. I like Davenport himself. The names
of the rest are Miss Barnes[,] Miss Winter with the
Children.^

^ Keats puts a double line in the margin against these two lines.
® At this point there is a break in the manuscript arising from
the fact that Keats overlooked a sheet when he despatched the
budget to his brother and sister-in-law. Fortunately, however,

333

Letter 114 March

On Monday we had to dinner Severn and Cawthorn,
the Bookseller and print-virtuoso; in the evening Severn
went home to paint, and we other three went to the play,
to see Shell’s^ new tragedy ycleped ^Evadne’. In the
morning Severn and I took a turn round the Museum —
there is a sphinx there of a giant size, and most volup-
tuous Egyptian expression, I had not seen it before.
The play was bad even in comparison with 1818, the
Augustan age of the Drama, ^comme on sait’, as
Voltaire says, the whole was made up of a virtuous
young woman, an indignant brother, a suspecting lover,
a libertine prince, a gratuitous villain, a street in Naples,
a Cypress grove, lilies and roses, virtue and vice^, a
bloody sword, a spangled jacket, one Lady Olivia, one
Miss O’Neil^ alias Evadne, alias Bellamira, alias — (Alias
— ^Yea, and I say unto you a greater than Elias — There
was Abbot^, and talking of Abbot his name puts me in
mind of a spelling book lesson, descriptive of the whole
Dramatis personae— Abbot — ^Abbess — ^Actor — ^Actress
— ). The play is a fine amusement, as a friend of mine
once said to me — ‘Do what you will,’ says he, ‘a poor
gentleman who wants a guinea cannot spend his two
shillings better than at the playhouse.’ The pantomime
was excellent, I had seen it before and I enjoyed it again.

Your mother and I had some talk about Miss .

Says I, Will Henry have that Miss , a lath with a

boddice, she who has been fine drawn — fit for nothing
but to cut up into Cribbage pins, to the tune of 15-2;
one who is all muslin; all feathers and bone; once in
travelling she was made use of as a lynch pin; I hope he

some sort of transcript was made by Mr. Jeffrey, and from that the
nussing passage can be tolerably well restored. Keats ultimately
discovered his omission, and sent the omitted sheet on with another
batch, haying first added an explanatory paragraph under a new
date, as will be seen later on (see page 337).

^ Richard Lalor Sheil, (1791—1851).

® Anticipating Swinbixme’s notorious lines.

^ Eliza O’Neil (1791-1872).

^ WilHam Abbot (1789-1843), Actor and Dramatist.

334

i8ig Letter 114.

will not have her, though it is no uncommon thing to be
smitten with a staff; though she might be very useful as his
walking-stick, his fishing-rod, his tooth-pick, his hat-
stick (she runs so much in his head) — let him turn
farmer, she would cut into hurdles; let him write poetiy%
she would be his turnstyle. Her gown is like a flag on
a pole; she would do for him if he turn freemason; I
hope she will prove a flag of truce; when she sits
languishing with her one foot on a stool, and one elbow
on the table, and her head inclined, she looks like the
sign of the crooked billet — or the frontispiece to Cinder-
ella or a tea-paper wood-cut of Mother Shipton at her
studies; she is a make-believe — She is bona side a thin
young ^oman — ^But this is mere talk of a fellow creature;
yet pardie I would not that Henry have her — Non volo
ut earn possideat, nam, for, it would be a bam^ for it
would be a sham —

Don’t think I am writing a petition to the Governors
of St. Luke — no, that would be in another style. May
it please your Worships; forasmuch as the undersigned
has committed, transferred, given up, made over, con-
signed, and aberrated himself, to the art and mystery of
poetry; forasmuch as he hath cut, rebuffed[,] aftonted,
huffed, and shirked, and taken stint, at all other
employments, arts, mysteries and occupations, honest,
middling, and dishonest; forasmuch as he hath at
sundry times and in diverse places, told truth unto the
men of this generation, and eke to the women; more-
over, forasmuch as he hath kept a pair of boots that did
not fit, and doth not admire Sheil’s play, Leigh Hunt,
Tom Moore, Bob Southey and M^ Rogers; and does
admire Wm. Hazlitt; more overer for as more as he
liketh half of Wordsworth, and none of Crabbe; more
over-est for as most as he hath written this page of pen-
manship — he prayeth your Worships to give him a
lodging — ^Witnessed by Rd. Abbey and Co. cum
familiaribus & consanguiniis (signed) Count de
Cockaigne.

335

Letter 1 14 March

The nothing of the day is a machine called the veloci-
pede. It is a wheel carriage to ride cock-horse upon,
sitting astride and pushing it along with the toes, a
rudder wheel in hand — they will go seven miles an hour.
A handsome gelding will come to eight guineas; how-
ever they will soon be cheaper, unless the army takes to
them. I look back upon the last month, and find
nothing to write about; indeed I do not recollect any
thing particular in it. It’s all alike; we keep on breath-
ing. The only amusement is a little scandal, of however
fine a shape, a laugh at a pun — and then after all we
wonder how we could enjoy the scandal or laugh at
the pun.

I have been at different times turning it in my head
whether I should go to Edinburgh and study for a
physician; I am afraid I should not take kindly to it;
I am sure I could not take fees — and yet I should like
to do so: it’s not worse than writing poems, and hanging
them up to be fly-blown on the Review shambles.
Every body is in his own mess: Here is the Parson at
Hampstead quarrelling with aU the world, he is in the
wrong by this same token; when the black cloth was
put up in the Church for the Queen’s mourning,^ he
asked the workmen to hang it the wrong side outwards,
that it might be better when taken down, it being his
perquisite. — Parsons will always keep up their character,
but as it is said there are some animals the ancients
knew which we do not, let us hope our posterity will
miss the black badger with tri-cornered hat; Who
knows but some Reviewer of Buffon or Pliny may put
an account of the parson in the Appendix; No one will
then believe it any more than we believe in the Phoenix.

I think we may class the lawyer in the same natural
history of Monsters; a green bag will hold as much as
a lawn sleeve. The only difference is that one is fustian
and the other flimsy; I am not unwilling to read Church

^ Queen Charlotte had died on the 17th of November 1818.

336

^^^9 Letter 114

history— at present I have Milner^ in my eye— his is
reckoned a very good one.

1 8th September [1819]. In looking over some of my
papers I found the above specimen of my carelessness.
It is a sheet you ought to have had long ago — my letter
must have appeared very unconnected, but as I number
the sheets you must have discovered how the mistake
happened. How many things have happened since I
wrote it. How have I acted contrary to my resolves.
The interval between writing this sheet and the day I
put this supplement to it, has been completely filled
with generous and most friendly actions of Brown to-
wards me. How frequently I forget to speak of things
which I think of and feel most. ’Tis very singular, the
idea about BufFon above has been taken up by Hunt
in the Examiner, in some papers which he calls 'A
Preternatural History.’^

[March] — ^Wednesday— On Sunday I went to

Davenports’ where I dined — and had a nap. I cannot
have a day an[ni]hilated in that manner — there is a
great difference between an easy and an uneasy in*'
dolence. An indolent day — fill’d with speculations even
of an unpleasant colour — ^is bearable and even pleasant
alon[e] — ^when one’s thoughts cannot find out any

^ Joseph Milner (1744-1797) wrote a ‘History of the Church of
Christ’ (i794-i8i! 2) winch was completed by his brother Isaac
Milner, Dean of Carlisle.

® After this point the holograph recommences. Miss Amy Lowell
recovered two pages of the holograph and gave them in her life
of Keats, Volume ii, pages igi and 607. They begin at ‘17th
Wednesday’ and end at ‘but as I am’ and are printed here from
a photostat of the holograph furnished to me by the Harvard
CoUege Library authorities. Miss Lowell held the view that these
two pages should come directly after the paragraph dated Satur-
day 13 March and ending ‘Miss Winter with the Children’,
I cannot, however, find sufficient justification for rejecting or
displacing the passage reconstructed from the Jefirey-Houghton
transcript, and I therefore retain that passage as print^ by
Sir Sidney Colvin and my father until the scattered sheets of the
holograph can be re-assembled. — M.B.F.

337

Letter 1 14 March

thing better in the world; and experience has told us
that locomotion is no change: but to have nothing to
do, and to be surrounded with unpleasant human
identities; who press upon one just enough to prevent
one getting into a lazy position, and not enough to
interest or rouse one; is a capital punishment of a
capital crime: for is not giving up, through good nature,
one’s time to people who have no light and shade a
capital crime? Yet what can I do? — they have been
very kind and attentive to me. I do not know what I did
on monday — nothing — nothing — nothing — I wish this
was any thing extraordinary — ^Yesterday I went to
town: I called on Abbey; he began again (he has
don[e] it frequently lately) [abou]t that [hat majking
concern — saying he wish you had hea[^or;z]ed to it: he
wants to make me a H[atter] — I really believe ’tis all
interested: for from the manner he spoke withal and the
card he gave me I think he is concerned in[hat-ma]king
himself— He speaks well of Fanny[’s] health — Hodg-
kinson is married — From this I think he takes a little
Latitude — A was waiting very impatient[l]y for his
return to the counting house — and meanwhile observed
how strange it was that Hodgkinson should have been
not able to walk two months ago and that now he
should be married. — 1 do not’, says he 'think it will do
him any good: I should not be surprised if he should
die of a consumption in a year or [two.] I called at
Taylor’s, and found that he and Hilto[n] had set out
to dine with me: so I followed them immediately back —
I walk’d with them townwards again as far as Gambden
[sic] Town and smoak’d home a Segar— This morning
I have been reading the 'False one^^ I have been up to
Bentley’s — shameful to say I was in bed at ten —

I mean this morning — The Blackwood’s review has
committed themselves in a scandalous heresy — they
have been putting up Hogg the ettrick shepherd against

^ By Beaumont and Fletcher, cf. p. 330.

338

i 8 ig Letter 114

Burns ^ — the senseless villains. I have not seen Reynolds
Rice or any of our set lately — Reynolds is completely
buried in the law: he is not only reconcil’d to it but
hobbyhorses upon it — Blackwood wanted very much
to see him — the scotch cannot manage by themselves at
all — they want imagination — and that is why they are
so fond of Hogg who has a little of it —

Friday Yesterday I got a black eye — the first
time I took a Cr[icket] bat — ^Brown who is always one’s
friend in a disaster [torn] tied a le[ech over] the eyelid,
and there is no infla[mm]ation this morning, though the
ball hit me [torn'l on the sight — ’twas a white ball — I am
glad it was not a clout. This is the second black eye
I have had since leaving school — during all my [schojol
days I never had one at all — ^we must eat a peck before
we die — This morning I am in a sort of temper indolent
and supremely careless: I long after a stanza or two of
Thompson’s [sic] Castle of indolence. My passions are
all alseep [j’zV] from my having slumbered till nearly
eleven and weakened the animal fibre all over me to
a delightful sensation about three degrees on this side
of faintness — ^if I had teeth of pearl and the breath of
lillies I should call it langour [sic] — but as I am^ *I must
call it laziness. In this state of effeminacy the fibres of
the brain are relaxed in common with the rest of the
body, and to such a happy degree that pleasure has no
show of enticement and pain no unbearable frown
Neither Poetry, nor Ambition, nor Love have any alert-
ness of countenance as they pass by me: they seem
rather like three figures on a greek vase — a Man and
two women whom no one but myself could distinguish

Especially as I have a black eye.

^ ‘Some Observations on the Poetry of the Agricultural and that
of the Pastoral Districts of Scotland, illustrated by a Comparative
View of the Genius of Bums and the Ettrick Shepherd.’ — ^Black-
wood’s Edinburgh Magazine, February 1819, pages 521-9.

^ Lord Crewe’s holograph resumes from here.

339

Letter 114 March

in their disguisement.^ This is the only happiness, and
is a rare instance of advantage in the body over-
powering the Mind. I have this moment received a note
from Haslam in which he expects the death of his
Father, who has been for some time in a state of in-
sensibility — his mother bears up he says very well — I
shall go to town to-morrow to see him. This is the
world — thus we cannot expect to give way many hours
to pleasure. Circumstances are like Clouds continually
gathering and bursting. While we are laughing, the
seed of some trouble is put into the wide arable land of
events — ^while we are laughing it sprouts it grows and
suddenly bears a poison fruit which we must pluck.
Even so we have leisure to reason on the misfortunes of
our friends; our own touch us too nearly for words.
Very few men have ever arrived at a complete dis-
interestedness of Mind: very few have been influenced
by a pure desire of the benefit of others — ^in the greater
part of the Benefactors to^ Humanity some meretricious
motive has sullied their greatness — some melodramatic
scenery has fa[s]cinated them. From the manner in\
which I feel Haslam’s misfortune I perceive how far \
I am from any humble standard of disinterestedness. 1
Yet this feeling ought to be carried to its highest pitch,
as there is no fear of its ever injuring Society — which it
would do I fear pushed to an extremity. For in wild
nature the Hawk would loose his Breakfast of Robins and
the Robin his of Worms — the Lion must starve as well
as the swallow. The greater part of Men make their
way with the same instinctiveness, the same unwander-
ing eye from their purposes, the same animal eagerness
as the Hawk. The Hawk wants a Mate, so does the
Man— look at them both[,] they set about it and procure
on[e] in the same manner. They want both a nest and
they both set about one in the same manner — they get
their food in the same manner. The noble animal Man

^ Compare this passage with the *Ode on Indolence’.

^ Keats wrote ‘0/’ and substituted

340

i 8 ig Letter 114

for his amusement smokes his pipe — the Hawk balances
about the Clouds — that is the only difference of their
leisures. This it is that makes the Amusement of Life —
to a speculative Mind. I go among the Fields and catch
a glimpse of a Stoat or a fieldmouse peeping out of the
withered grass — the creature hath a purpose and its
eyes are bright with it. I go amongst the buildings of
a city and I see a Man hurrying along — to what? the
Creature has a purpose and his eyes are bright with it.
But then, as Wordsworth says, ‘we have all one human
heart’ ^ — there is an electric fire in human nature tend-
ing to purify — so that among these human creature[s]
there is continually some birth of new heroism. The
pity is that we must wonder at it: as we should at
finding a pearl in rubbish. I have no doubt that
thousands of people never heard of have had hearts
completely disinterested: I can remember but two —
Socrates and Jesus — their Histories evince it. What I
heard a little time ago, Taylor observe with respect to
Socrates, may be said of Jesus — That he was so great
a man that though he transmitted no writing of his
own to posterity, we have his Mind and his sayings and
his greatness handed to us by others. It is to be
lamented that the history of the latter was written and
revised by Men interested in the pious frauds of
Religion. Yet through all this I see his splendour.
Even here though I myself am purstiing the same
instinctive course as the veriest human animal you can
think of— I am however young writing at random —
straining at particles of light in the midst of a great
darkness — ^without knowing the bearing of any one
assertion[,] of any one opinion. Yet may I not in this
be free from sin?^ May there not be superior beings

^ The Old Cumberland Beggar, 1 . 153.

® The passage beginning ‘Even here’, punctuated as above as in
the original in Lord Crewe’s possession, is by no means clear. In
The Times Literary Supplement of the 20th of May 1926, p. 339,
Mr. L. J. Potts, of Queen’s College, Cambridge, drew attention to
its obscurity as printed by Sir Sidney Colvin and H. Buxton

n 341 E

Letter 114 March

amtised with any graceful, though instinctive attitude
my mind may fall into, as I am entertained with the
alermess of a Stoat or the anxiety of a Deer? Though
a quarrel in the Streets is a thing to be hated, the
energies displayed in it are fine; the commonest Man
shows a grace in his quarrel. By a superior being our
reasoning[s] may take the same tone — though erroneous
they may be fine. This is the very thing in which con-
sists poetry, and if so it is not so fine a thing as philo-
sophy— For the same reason that an eagle is not so finp
a thing as a truth. Give me this creifit — ^Do you not
think I strive — to know myself? Give me this credit,
and you wiU not think that on my own accou[n]t I re-
peat Milton’s lines —

‘How charming is divine Philosophy

Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose

But musical as is Apollo’s lute’ — '

No— no[t] for myself— feeling grateful as I do to have got
into a state of mind to relish them properly. Nothing
ever becomes real till it is experienced — Even a Proverb
is no proverb to you, till your Life has illustrated it. I am
ever affiraid that your anxiety for me will lead you to
fear for the violence of my temperament continually
smothered down: for that reason I did not intend to
have sent you the following sonnet — but look over the
two last pages and ask yourselves whether I have not
that in me which will well bear the buffets of the world.
It will be the best comment on my sonnet; it will show
you that it was written with no Agony but that of
ignorance; with no thirst of anything but Knowledge

Form^, and suggested a punctuation which certainly clarifies
Keats s meaning. Mr. Potts would read— ‘Even here, though I my-
^seU am pursuing ^e same instinctive course as the veriest human
^animal you can think of— I am, however, young — ^writing at ran-
^dom, str^g at p^cles of light in the midst of a great darkness,
^witoout knowing &e beanng of any one assertion, of any one
opinion yet may I not in this be free from sin?’

^ ‘Comus’, 11. 476-8.

342

iSig Letter

when pushed to the point though the first steps to it
were through my human passions — they went away, and
I wrote with my Mind — and perhaps I must confess
a litde bit of my heart —

Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell:

No God, no Deamon [sic] of severe response

Deigns to reply from heaven or from Hell. —

Then to my human heart I turn at once —

Heart! thou and I are here sad and alone;

Say, wherefore did I laugh? O mortal pain!

0 Darkness ! Darkness ! ever must I moan

To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain!

Why did I laugh? I know this being’s lease
My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads:

Yet could* I on this very midnight cease
And the world’s gaudy ensigns see in shreds.

Verse, fame and Beauty are intense indeed

But Death intenser — ^Death is Life’s high meed.

1 went to bed, and enjoyed an uninterrupted Sleep.
Sane I went to bed and sane I arose.

[15 April 1819] This is the 15th of April — ^you see
what a time it is since I wrote — all that time I have been
day by day expecting Letters from you. I write quite in
the dark. In the hopes of a Letter daily I have deferred
that I might write in the light. I was in town yesterday
and at Taylor’s heard that young Birkbeck had been in
Town and was to set forward in six or seven days — ^so
I shall dedicate that time to making up this parcel
ready for him. I wish I could hear from you to make me
"whole and general as the casing air.’^ A few days after the
19th of april [for March] I received a note from Haslam
containing the news of his father’s death. The F amily has
all been well. Haslam has his father’s situation. The
Framptons have behaved weU to him. The day before
yesterday I went to a rout at Sawrey’s^ — ^it was made

^ ‘Macbeth’, m. iv. 23, as on p. 83.

2 The doctor who had attended poor Tom; see p. 239.

343 E

Letter 1 ^pril

pleasant by Reynolds being there and our getting into
conversation with one of the most beautiful Girls I ever
saw. She gave a remarkable prettiness to all those
commonplaces which most women who talk must utter
[ — ]1 liked Sawrey very well. The Sunday before

last your Brothers were to come by a long invitation —
so long that for the time I forgot it when I promised
M"*® Brawne to dine with her on the same day. On
recollecting my engagement with your Brothers I im-
mediately excused myself with M""® Brawnel],] but she
would not hear of it and insisted on my bringing my
friends with me. So we all dined at ]\T® Brawne’s. I
have been to Bentley’s this morning and put all the
Letters two [sic] andfromyou and poor Tom and me [w] .
I found some of the correspondence between him and
that degraded Wells and Amenah It is" a wretched
business. I do not know the rights of it — but what I do
know would I am sure affect you so much that I am
in two Minds whether I will tell you any thing about it.
And yet I do not see why — ^for any thing, tho’ it be un-
pleasant that calls to mind those we still love, has a
compensation in itself for the pain it occasions — so very
likely tomorrow I may set about coppying the whole of
what I have about it: with no sort of a Richardson self
satisfaction — I hate it to a sickness — and I am affraid
more from indolence of mind than any thing else.
I wonder how people exist with all their worries. I have
not been to Westminster but once lately and that was
to see Dilke in his new Lodgings — I think of living
somewhere in the neighbourhood myself. Your mother
was well by your Brothers account. I shall see her
perhaps to-morrow — ^yes I shall. We have had the Boys
here lately — they make a bit of a racket — I shall not be
sorry when they go.^ I found also this morning in a
note from George to you my dear sister a lock of your

^ See Biographical Memoranda, under ‘Thomas Keats’.

^ Brown’s younger brothers: they are mentioned again on
page 351-

344

i 8 ig Letter 11^

hair which I shall this moment put in the miniature
case. A few days ago Hunt dined here and Brown
imdted Davenport to meet him. Davenport from a
sense of weakness thought it incumbent on him to show
off— and pursuant to that never ceased talking and
boaring [j'e'd:] all day till I was completely fagged out.
Brown grew melancholy — but Hunt perceiving what
a complimentary tendency all this had bore it remark-
ably well — ^Brown grumbled about it for two or three
days. I went with Hunt to Sir John Leicester’s gallery
[ — there I saw Northcote — Hilton — ^Bewick and many
more of great and Little note. Haydons picture^ is of
very little progress this last year. He talks about finishing
it next year. Wordsworth is going to publish a Poem
called Peter Bell — ^what a perverse fellow it is! Why
wlQ he talk about Peter Bells — I was told not to tell —
but to you it will not be telling — Reynolds hearing that
said Peter Bell was coming out, took it into his head to
write a skit upon it call’d Peter Bell. He did it as soon
as thought on[5] it is to be published this morning, and
comes out before the real Peter Bell, with this admirable
motto from the ‘Bold stroke for a Wife’^ ‘I am the real
Simon Pure’. I[t] would be just as well to trounce Lord
Byron in the same manner. I am still at a stand in
versifying — I cannot do it yet with any pleasure — I
mean however to look round on my resources and
means — and see what I can do without poetry. To that
end I shall live in Westminster. I have no doubt of
making by some means a little to help on or I shall be
left in the Lurch — ^with the burden of a little Pride —
However I look in time. The Di[l]kes like their lodging
in Westminster tolerably well. I cannot help thinking
what a shame it is that poor Dilke should give up his
comfortable house and garden for his Son, whom he
will certainly ruin with too much care. The boy has
nothing in his ears all day but himself and the impor-

^ Christ’s entry into Jerusalem,

2 Mrs. Gentlivre (1667-1723).

345

Letter 1 14 April

tance of his education. Dilke has continually in his
mouth 'My Boy’. This is what spoils princes: it may
have the same effect with Commoners. M""® Dilke has
been very well lately. But what a shameful thing it is
that for that obstinate Boy Dilke should stifle himself in
Town Lodgings and wear out his Life by his continual
apprehension of his Boys fate in Westminster school
with the rest of the Boys and the Masters. Every one
has some wear and tear. One would think Dilke ought
to be quiet and happy— but no — this one Boy makes
his face pale, his society silent and his vigilance jealous.
He would I have no doubt quarrel with any one who
snubb’d his Boy. With all this he has no notion how to
manage him. O what a farce is our greatest cares ! Yet
one must be in the pother for the sake of Clothes food
and Lodging. There has been a squabble between
Kean and M^ Bucke. There are faults on both sides —
on Bucks the faults are positive to the Question: Keans
fault is a want of genteel knowledge and high Policy.
The former writes knavishly foolish and the other, silly
bombast. It was about a Tragedy written by said
Bucke, which it appears M"^ Kean kick’d at — ^it was
so bad — . After a little struggle of M^ Bucke’s against
Kean drury Lane had the policy to bring it out and
Kean the impolicy not to appear in it. It was damn’d.
The people in the Pit had a favourite call on the night
of 'Buck Buck rise up’ and 'Buck Buck how many horns
do I hold up.[’]^ Kotzebue the German Dramatist and
traitor to his country was murdered lately by a young
student whose name I forget^ — he stabbed himself
immediately after crying out Germany! Germany!
I was unfortunate to miss Richards the only time I have
been for many months to see him. Shall I treat you
with a little extempore [?]

^ Charles Bucke^ (see p. 133), the author of ‘The Italians; or
the Fatal Accusation’, gave his account of the affair in a long
preface to that play as printed at the time (1819).

^ It was Sandt. See p. 445,

346

i8ig Letter

When they were come unto the Faery’s Court
They rang — no one at home — all gone to sport
And dance and kiss and love as faerys do
For Fa[e]ries be as humans lovers true —

Amid the woods they were so lone and wild
Where even the Robin feels himself exild
And where the very brooks as if affraid
Hurry along to some less magic shade.

^No one at home’ ! the fretful princess cry’d
^And all for nothing such a dre[a]ry ride
And all for nothing my new diamond cross
No one to see my persian feathers toss
No one to see my Ape[ 3 ] my Dwarf^ my Fool
Or how I pace my otahaietan mule.

Ape, Dwarf and Fool why stand you gaping there
Burst the door open, quick — or I declare
I’ll switch you soundly and in pieces tear.’

The Dwarf began to tremble and the Ape
Star’d at the Fool, the Fool was all agape
The Princess grasp’d her switch but just in time
The dwarf with piteous face began to rhyme.

‘O mighty Princess did you ne’er hear tell
What your poor servants know but too too well
Know you the three great crimes in faery land
The first alas ! poor Dwarf I understand
I made a whipstock of a faery’s wand
The next is snoring in their company
The next, the last the direst of the three
Is making free when they are not at home[.]

I was a Prince — a baby prince — my doom
You see, I made a whipstock of a wand
My top has henceforth slept in faery land.

He was a Prince, the Fool a grown up Prince
But he has never been a King’s son since
He fell a snoring at a faery Ball —

Your poor Ape was a Prince, and he poor thing
Picklock’d a faery’s boudour [sic \ — ^now no king
But ape — so pray your highness stay awhile

347

Letter 1 ^P'ril

^Tis sooth indeed We know it to our sorrow —

Persist zudyou may be an ape tomorrow —

While the Dwarf spake the Princess all for spite
Peal’d [sic] the brown hazel twig to lilly white
Clench’d her small teeth, and held her lips apart
Try’d to look unconcern’d with beating heart[.]

They saw her highness had made up her mind
And quavering like the reeds before the wind —

And they had had it, but O happy chance
The Ape for very fear began to dance
And grin’d as all his ugliness did ache —

She staid her vixen fingers for his sake
He was so very ugly: then she took
Her pocket -glass- mirror and began to look
First at herself and [then] at him and then
She smil’d at her own beauteous face again
Yet for all this — for all her pretty face —

She took it in her head to see the place[.]

Women gain little from experience
Either in Lovers husbands or expense.

The more the beauty, the more fortune too
Beauty before the wide world never knew[.]

So each Fair reasons — tho’ it oft miscarries.

She thought her pretty face would please the fa[e]rics
‘My darling Ape I wont whip you today
Give me the Picklock sirrah and go play.’

They all three wept — but counsel was as vain
As crying cup biddy to drops of rain.

Yet lingeringly did the sad Ape forth draw
The Picklock from the Pocket in his Jaw.

The Princess took it and dismounting straight
Trip’d in blue silver’d slippers to the gate
And touch’d the wards, theDoor-epes- full cou[r] teou[sJ ly
Opened — she enter’d with her servants three.

Again it clos’d and there was nothing seen
But the Mule grasing on the herbage green.

End of Canto xii

348

Letter 114

i8ig

Canto the xiii

The Mule no sooner saw himself alone
Than he prick[’d] up his Ears — and said 'well done
At least unhappy Prince I may be free —

No more a Princess shall side saddle me

0 King of Othaiete — tho’ a Mule

'Aye every inch a King’ — tho’ 'Fortune’s fooP
Well done — ^for by what M^ Dwarfy said

1 would not give a sixpence for her head’[.]

Even as he spake he trotted in high glee
To the knotty side of an old Pollard tree
And rub[’d] his sides against the mossed bark
Till his Girths burst and left him naked stark
Except his Bridle — how get rid of that
Buckled and tied with many a twist and plait[?]

At last it struck him to pretend to sleep

And then the thievish Monkies down would creep
And filch the unpleasant trammels quite away[.]

No sooner thought of than adown he lay
Sham[m]’d a good snore — the Monkey-men descended
And whom they thought to injure they befriended.
They hung his Bridle on a topmost bough
And of[f] he went run, trot, or any how —

Brown is gone to bed — and I am tired of rhyming —
there is a north wind blowing playing young gooseberry
with the trees — I don’t care so it helps even with a side
wind a Letter to me — ^for I cannot put faith in any
reports I hear of the Settlementf;] some are good
some bad. Last Sunday I took a Walk towards high-
gate and in the lane that winds by the side of Lord
Mansfield’s park I met M"" Green our Demonstrator at
Guy’s in conversation with Coleridge — I joined them,
after enqxiiiing by a look whether it would be agreeable
— I walked with him a[t] his alderman-after-dinner pace
for near two miles I suppose. In those two Mile^ he
broached a thousand things — ^let me see if I can give you
a list — ^Nightingales, Poetry — on Poetical Sensation —

349

Letter 11 April

Metaphysics — ^Different genera and species of Dreams —
Nightmare — a dream accompanied by a sense of
touch — single and double touch — dream related —
First and second consciousness — the difference ex-
plained between will and Volition — so m[an]y meta-
physicians from a want of smoking the second con-
sciousness — Monsters — the Kraken — Mermaids —
Southey believes in them — Southey’s belief too much
diluted — K Ghost story — Good morning — I heard his
voice as he came towards me — I heard it as he moved
away — I had heard it all the interval — ^if it may be
called so. He was civil enough to ask me to call on him
at Highgate[.] Good night It looks so much like rain
I shall not go to town to day: but put it off till to-
morrow. Brown this morning is writing some Spen-
serian stanzas against Miss Brawne and me; so

I shall amuse myself with him a little: in the manner of
Spenser —

He is to weet a melancholy Carle
Thin in the waist, with bushy head of hair
As hath the seeded thistle when in parle
It holds the Zephyr ere it sendeth fair
Its light balloons into the summer air[.]

Therto his beard had not began to bloom
No brush had touch’d his chin or razor sheer
No care had touch[’d] his cheek with mortal doom
But new he was and bright as scarf from persian loom.

Ne cared he for wine, or half and half
Ne cared he for fish or flesh or fowl
And sauces held he worthless as the chaff
He ’sdeign’d the swine herd"" at the wassail bowl
Ne with lewd ribbalds sat he cheek by jowl
Ne with sly Lemans in the scorner’s chair

^ Though the same paragraph is continued, what follows was
be^n with a fresh pen, and internal evidence indicates that it
belongs to the next day.

® So altered from ‘heard’.

350

Letter 1 14

i8ig

But after water brooks this Pilgrim’s soul
Panted, and all his food was woodland air
Though he would ofttimes feast on gilliflowers rare —

The slang of cities in no wise he knew
Tipping the wink to him was heathen greek
He sipp’d no olden Tom or ruin blue
Or nantz or cherry brandy drank full meek
By many a Damsel hoarse and rouge of cheek
Nor did he know each aged Watchman’s beat —

Nor in obscured purlieus would he seek
For curled Jewesses with ankles neat
Who as they walk abroad make tinkling with their feet^

This character would ensure him a situation in the
establishment of patient Griselda. . The servant has
come for the litde Browns this morning — they have
been a toothache to me which I shall enjoy the riddance
of— Their little voices are like wasps’ stings — ‘Sometimes
am I all wound with Browns’.^ We had a claret feast
some little while ago. There were Dilke, Reynolds,
Skinner, Mancur, John Brown, Martin, Brown and 1.
We all got a little tipsy — ^but pleasantly so — I enjoy
Claret to a degree. I have been looking over the corre-
spondence of the pretended Amena and Wells this
evening — I now see the whole cruel deception. I think
Wells must have had an accomplice in it — ^Amena’s
Letters are in a Man’s language, and in a Man’s hand
imitating a woman’s. The instigations to this diabolical
scheme were vanity, and the love of intrigue. It was no
thoughtless hoax — but a cruel deception on a sanguine
Temperament, with every show of friendship. I do not
think death too bad for the villain. The world -wiH-
would look upon it in a different light should I expose
it — they would call it a frolic — ^so I must be wary — ^but
I consider it my duty to be prudently revengeful. I will
hang over his head like a sword by a hair. I will be
opium to his vanity — ^if I cannot injure his interests.

* Gf. ‘The Tempest’, n. ii. 12, 13.

351

^ Gf. Isaiah^ iii. 16.

Lettering April

He is a rat and he shall have ratsbane to his vanity —
I will harm him all I possibly can — I have no doubt
I shall be able to do so. Let us leave him to his misery
alone except when we can throw in a little more. The
fifth canto of Dante pleases me more and more — ^it is
that one in which he meets with Paulo and Francls^esca.
I had passed many days in rather a low state of mind,
and in the midst of them I dreamt of being in that
region of Hell. The dream was one of the most delight-
ful enjoyments I ever had in my life. I floated about the
whirling atmosphere as it is described with a beautiful
figure to whose lips mine were joined, at [for as] it
seemed for an age — and in the midst of all this cold and
darkness I was warm — even flowery tree tops sprung up
and we rested on them sometimes with the lightness of
a cloud, till the wind blew us away again. I tried a
Sonnet upon it — there are fourteen lines but nothing of
what I felt in it — O that I could dream it every night —

As Hermes once took to his feathers light
When lulled .^gus, baffled, swoon’d and slept
So on a delphic reed my idle spright
So play’d, so charm’d[,] so conquer’d, so bereft
The dragon world of all its hundred eyes
And seeing it asleep so fled away: —

Not to pure Ida with its snow -e lad cold skies.

Nor unto Tcmpe where Jove grieved that day,

But to ^at second circle of sad hell,

Where in the gust, the whirlwind and the flaw
Of Rain and hailstones lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw
Pale were the lips I kiss’d and fair the form
I floated with about that melancholy storm.

I want very much a little of your wit my dear Sister —
a Letter or two of yours just to bandy back a pun or two
across the Atlantic and send a quibble over the Floridas.
Wow you have by this time crumpled up your large
Uonnet, what do you wear — a cap? do you put your

352

Letter II ^

hair in papers of a night? do you pay the Miss Birkbecks
a morning visit — have you any tea? or do you milk and
water with them[?] — What place of Worship do you
go to — the Quakers[J the Moravians, the Unitarians or
the Methodists[?] Are there any flowers in bloom you
like — any beautiful heaths — any Streets full of Corset
Makers[ ?] What sort of shoes have you to fit those pretty
feet of yours? Do you desire Comp^ to one another?
Do you ride on Horseback? What do you have for
breakfast, dinner and supper? without mentioning
lunch and bever^ and wet and snack — and a bit to stay
one’s Stomach? Do you get any Spirits[?] — now you
might easily distill some whiskey — and going into the
woods set up a whiskey shop for the Moneys. Do you
and the miss Birkbecks get groggy on any thing — a little
so so ish so as to be obliged to be seen home with a
Lantern [?] You may perhaps have a game at puss in
the comer — Ladies are warranted to play at this game
though they have not whiskers. Have you a fiddle in the
Settlement — or at any rate a Jew’s harp — ^which will
play in spite of one’s teeth — ^When you have nothing
else to do for a whole day I tell you how you may
employ it — First get up and when you are dress’d, as it
would be pretty early with a high wind in the woods
give George a cold Pig^ with my Compliments. Then
you may saunter into the nearest coffeehouse and
after taking a dram and a look at the Chronicle — ^go
and frighten the wild boars upon the strength — ^you may
as well bring one home for breakfast serving up the
hoofs garnished with bristles and a grunt or two to
accompany the singing of the kettle — then if George is
not up give him a colder Pig always with my Com-
pliments. When you are both set down to breakfast
I advise you to eat your full share — ^but leave off
immediately on feeling yourself inclined to anything on
the other side of the puffy — avoid that for it does not

^ A snack between meals.

^ i. e. a wetting with cold water to awaken him.

353

Letter April

become young women. After you have eaten your
breakfast keep your eye upon dinner — it is the safest
way — ^You should keep a Hawk’s eye over your dinner
and keep hovering over it till due time then pounce
taking care not to break any plates. While you are
hovering with your dinner in prospect you may do
a thousand things — put a hedgehog into Georges hat —
pour a little water into his rifle — soak his boots in a pail
of water — cut his jacket round into shreds like a roman
kilt or the back of my grandmother’s stays — Sow ^his
buttons

Yesterday I could not write a line I was so fat[i]gued
for the day before I went to town in the morning called
on your Mother, and returned in time for a few friends
we had to dinner. These were Taylor, Woodhouse,
Reynolds — wt began cards at about 9 o’ Clock, and the
night coming on and continuing dark and rainy they
could not think of returning to town. So we played at
Cards till very daylight — and yesterday I was not worth
a sixpence. Your Mother was very well but anxious for
a Letter. We had half an hour’s talk and no more for
I was obliged to be home. M^® and Miss Millar were
well and so was Miss Waldegrave. I have asked your
Brothers here for next Sunday. When Reynolds was
here on Monday— he asked me to give Hunt a hint to
take notice of his Peter BelP in the Examiner— the best
thing I can do is to write a little notice of it myself
which I will do here and copy it out if it should suit
my Purpose. —

Peter Bell. There have been lately advertized two
Books both Peter Bell by name; what stuff the one was
niade of might be seen by the motto T am the real
Simon Pure’. This false florimeP has hurried from the

• review was printed with some slight changes

^ rhe Exammer* for April 25, 1819; the modified version may be
found m volume iii of Messrs. Gowans and Gray’s edition of
Keats’s Works. It was partly this that led Shelley to write Teter
Bell the Third . ^ Spenser, Faerie Queene^ Books m, rv, v.

354

^^^9 Letter 1 14

press and obtruded herself into public notice while for
ought we know the real one may be still wandering
about the woods and mountains. Let us hope she may
soon make her appearance- and make good her right to
the magic girdle. The Pamphleteering Archimage we
can perceive has rather a splenetic love than a down-
right hatred to real florimels— if indeed they had been
so christened — or had even a pretention to play at bob
cherry with Barbara Lewthwaite: but he has a fixed
aversion to those three rhyming Graces Alice Fell,
Susan Gale and Betty Foy; -a nd - who can wonder at it? -
and now at length especially to Peter Bell — fit Apollo.
T - he writer of thi s little skit from understanding It may
be seen from one or two Passages -of in tliis little skit,
that the writer of it has felt the finer parts of Words-
wort h -s- Poetry , and perhaps expatiated with his more
remote and sublimer muse; ^^ho sits aloof in a cheerful
•s adness, and This as far as it relates to Peter Bell is un-
lucky, The more he may love the sad embroidery of the
Excursion; the more he will hate the coarse Samplers of
Betty Foy and Alice Fell; and as they come from the
same hand, the better will be able to imitate that which
can be imitated, to wit Peter Bell — as far as can be
imagined from the obstinate Name. We repeat, it is
very unlucky — this real Simon Pure is in parts the very
Man — there is a pernicious likeness in the scenery[,] a
^‘pestilent humour” in the rhymes and an inveterate
cadence in some of the Stanzas that must be lamented.
If we are one part p- leased amused at this we are
three parts sorry that an appreciator of Wordsworth
should show so much temper at this really provoking
name of Peter Bell — ! This will do well enough — I
have coppied it and enclosed it to Hunt. You will call it
a litde politic — ^seeing I keep clear of all parties — I say
something for and against both parties — ^and suit it to
the tune of the examiner — I mean to say I do not
unsuit it — and I believe I think what I say[ — ^]nay I am
sure I do — I and my conscience are in luck to day —

355

Letter 114: April

which is an excellent thing. The other night I went to
the Play with Rice, Reynolds and Martin — ^we saw
a new dull and half damn’d Opera call’d 'the heart of
Mid Lothian’ [ — ^]that was on Saturday — I stopt at
Taylors on Sunday with Woodhouse — and passed a
quiet Sort of pleasant day. I have been very much
pleased with the Panorama of the Ship at the north
Pole — ^with the icebergs, the Mountains, the Bears[,] the
Walrus — the seals[,] the Penguins — and a large whale
floating back above water — ^it is impossible to describe
the place — ^Wednesday Evening —

La belle dame sans merci —

O what can ail thee Knight at arms
Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has withered from the Lake
And no birds sing!

0 what can ail thee Knight at arms
So haggard, and so woe begone?

The Squirrel’s granary is full
And the harvest’s done.

1 see d eath’s a lilly on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew.

And on thy cheeks - death’s - a fading rose
^^®^Withereth too —

I met a Lady in the Wi t ds Meads
Full beautiful, a faery’s child

Her hair was long, her foot was light
And her eyes were wild —

I made a Garland for her head.

And bracelets too, and fragrant Zone

She look’d at me as she did love
And made sweet moan —

I set her on my pacing steed
And nothing else saw all day long

For sidelong would she bend and sing
A faery’s song —

356

Letter 114

1819

She found me roots of relish sweet
And honey wild and hone^ ^^ manna dew
And sure in language strange she said
I love thee true —

She took me to her elfin grot

And there she wept ^

^ \-a nd there she sighed

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

With Kisses four —

And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dream’d Ah Woe betide !

The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale Kings and Princes too
Pale warriors death pale were they all
Who cried* La belle dame sans merci
Thee hath in thrall.

I saw their starv’d lips in the gloam
All tremble '

With horrid warning wide,

^ k w ^ de - agape

And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill’s side

And this is why^ I -^ vither sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering;

Though the sedge is withered from the Lake
And no birds sing —

Why four kisses — ^you will say — ^why four[?] because
I wish to restrain the headlong impetuosity of my Muse
— she would have fain said 'score’ without hurting the
rhyme — but we must temper the Imagination as the
Critics say with Judgment. I was obliged to choose an
even number that both eyes might have fair play: and
to speak truly I think two a piece quite sufficient.

^ By inadvertence Keats wrote and left ‘way’.

357

n

F

Letterii^. April

Suppose I had said seven; there would have been three
and a half a piece — a very awkward affair and well
got out of on my side —

Chorus of Fa[i]ries -t hree 4 Fire, air, earth and water—
Salamander, Zephyr, Dusketha Breama —

Sal. Happy happy glowing fire !

Zep. Fragrant air, dehcious Hght!

Dusk. Let me to my glooms retire.

Bream. I to -Hay- greenweed rivers bright.

Salam.

Happy, happy glowing fire
Dazzling bowers of soft retire !

Ever let my nourish’d wing

Like a bat’s still wandering

E\fer beat Faintly fan your fiery spaces

Spirit sole in deadly places

In unhaunted roar and blaze

Open eyes that never daze.

Let me see the myriad shapes
Of Men and Beasts and Fish and apes.

Portray’d in many a fiery den.

And wrought by spumy bittumen
On the deep intenser roof
Arched every way aloof.

Let me breathe upon my Skies
And anger their live tapestries
Free from cold and every care
Of chilly rain and shivering air.

Zephyr.

Spright of fire — away away!

Or your very roundelay

Will sear my plumage -ah- newly budded

From its quilled sheath and all studded

With the selfsame dews that fell

On the May-grown Asphodel.

Spright of fire away away!

358

Letter 114

Breama.

Spright of fire away away!

Zephyr blue eyed faery turn

And see my cool sedge shaded urn

Where it rests its mossy brim

Mid water mint and cresses dim;

WheF€? - And the flowers ami 4 in sweet troubles

Lift their eyes above the bubbles

Like our Queen when she would please

To sleep and Oberon will tease —

Love me blue eyed Faery true

Soothly I am ^ i r
1^ • Tj ^ sick for you*

Zephyr.

Gentle Brema by the first
Violet young nature nurst
I will bathe myself with thee
So you sometimes follow me
To my home far far in west

Far beyond the search and quest
Of the golden browed sun —

Come with me oer tops of trees

To my fragrant Pallaces

Where they ever-floating are

Beneath the cherish of a star

■ Who with Call’d Vesper — ^who with silver veil

Ever Hides his brilliance pale
Ever gently drows’d doth keep
Twilight of the Fays to sleep
Fear not that your watry hair
Will thirst in drouthy ringlets there —
Clouds of stored summer rains
Thou shalt taste before the stains
Of the mountain soil they take
And too unlucent for thee make

359

April

Letter 114

I love thee ch[r]ystal faery true
Sooth I am as sick for you

Salam —

Out ye agueish Faeries out!

Chillier than the wa^r -
Chilly Lovers what a rout.

Keep ye with your frozen breath
Colder than the mortal death —

Adder-eyed Dusketha, speak
Shall we leave these and go seek
In the Earths wide Entrails old
Couches warm as theirs is cold

0 for a fiery gloom and thee
Dusketha so enchantingly
Freckle-wing’d and lizard-sided 1

Dusketha.

By thee Spright will I be guided

1 4 e- care not for cold or heat
Frost and and [w] Flame or Sparks or sleet
To my essence are the same —

But I honor more the flame —

Spright of fire I follow thee
Wheresoever it may be,

To the - v -e ry fir - e - torrid spouts [and] fountains,
Underneath earth quaked mountains

Or at thy supreme desire
Touch the very pulse of fire
With my bare unlidded eyes

Salam.

Sweet Dusketha; Paradise!

Off ye icy Spirits — fly
Frosty creatures of Sky.

Dusketha.

Breathe upon them fiery Spright
360

Letter 114

1819

Zephyr Breama to each other
Ah, my love, my life
Ah r Jet us fly

Away Away to our delight

Salam.

Go feed on icicles w ill - we while we
Bedded in tongued-flames will be

Dusketha

Lead me to those fevrous glooms
Spright of fire

Breama

Me to the blooms

Soft- Blue eyed Zephyr of those flowers
Far in the west w[h]ere the May cloud lours
And the beams of still vesper where winds are all wist
Are shed through the rain and the milder mist
And twilight your floating bowers —

I have been reading lately two very different books,
Robertson’s America and Voltaire’s SiecleDe Louis XIV.
It is like walking arm and arm between Pizarro and the
great-little Monarch. In How lementable [sic] a case do
we see the great body of the people in both instances; in
the first where Men might seem to inherit quiet of Mind
from unsophisticated senses; from uncontamination of
civilisation; and especially from their being as it were
estranged from the mutual helps of Society and its
mutual injuries — and thereby more immediately under
the Protection of Providence — even there they had
mortal pains to bear as bad, or even worse than Ba[i]lifFs,
Debts and Poverties of civilised Life. The whole
appears to resolve into this — that Man is originally 'a
poor forked creature’ ^ subject to the same mischances
as the beasts of the forest, destined to hardships and dis-

^ Cf. ‘King Lear’, m. iv. no, in.

361

Letter 1 14 April

quietude of some kiad or other. If he improves by
degrees his bodily accom[m]odations and comforts — at
each stage, at each accent [w] there are waiting for him
a fresh set of annoyances — he is mortal and there is still
a heaven with its Stars above his head. The most
interesting question that can come before us is, How
far by the persevering endeavours of a seldom appearing
Socrates Mankind may be made happy — I can imagine
such happiness carried to an extreme — but what must
it end in? — ^Death — and who could in such a case bear
with death — the whole troubles of life which are now
frittered away in a series of years, would the[n] be
accumulated for the last days of a being who instead of
hailing its approach would leave this world as Eve left
Paradise. But in truth I do not at all believe in this sort
of perfectibility — the nature of the world will not admit
of it — the inhabitants of the world will correspond to
itself. Let the fish Philosophise the ice away from the
Rivers in winter time and they shall be at continual
play in the tepid delight of Summer. Look at the Poles
and at the Sands of Afiica, Whirlpools and volcanoes.
Let men exterminate them and I will say that they may
arrive at earthly Happiness. The point at which Man
may arrive is as far as the paralel [jfr] state in inanimate
nature and no further. For instance suppose a rose to
have sensation, it blooms on a beautiful morning, it
enjoys itself— but there comes a cold wind, a hot sun —
it cannot escape it, it cannot destroy its annoyances —
they are as native to the world as itself— no more can
man be happy in spite, the worldly elements will prey
upon his nature. The common cognomen of this world
among the misguided and superstitious is ‘a vale of
tears’ from which we are to be redeemed by a certain
arbitrary interposition of God and taken to Heaven.
What a little cfrcumscribed straightened [rfr] notion!
Call the world if you Please ‘The vale of Soul-making’.
Then_ you will_ find out the use of the world (I am
speaking now in the highest terms for human nature

362

^^^9 Letter 114

admitting it to be immortal which I will here take for
granted for the pu:^ose of showing a thought which has
struck me concerning it) I say ‘Soul-?naking’[ — ^]Soul as
■ distinguished from an Intelligence. There may be
intelligences or sparks of the divinity in millions — but
they are not Souls till they acquire identities, till each
one is personally itself. I[n]teUigences are atoms ofper-
ception — they know and they see and they are pure, in
^ short they are God. — How then are Souls to be made?
How then are these sparks which are God to have
identity given them — so as ever to possess a bliss peculiar
to each one’s individual existence? How, but by the
medium of a world like this? This point I sincerely
wish to consider because I think it a grander system of
salvation than the chrystiain [jic] religion — or rather it
is a system of Spirit-creation. This is effected by three
grand materials acting the one upon the other for
a series of years. These three Materials are the Intelli-
gence — the human heart (as distinguished from intelligence
or Mind) and the World or Elemental space suited for the
proper action of Mind and Heart on each other for the
purpose of forming the Soul or Intelligence destined to
possess the sense of Identity. I can scarcely express what
I but dimly perceive — and yet I t hink I perceive it —
that you may judge the more clearly I will put it in the
most homely form possible. I will call the world a
School instituted for the purpose of teaching little
children to read — I will call the human heart tihe ham
Book read in that School — and I will call the Child able
to read, the Soul made from that School and its hornbook.
Do you not see how necessary a World of P ains and
troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a Soul?
A Place where the heart must feel and suffer in a thou-
sand diverse ways. Not merely is the Heart a Horn-
book, It is the Minds Bible, it is the Minds experience,
it is the text from which the Mind or intelligence sucks
'tits identity. As various as the Lives of Men are — ^so
various become their Souls, and thus does God make

363

Letter 114 April

individual beings. Souls, Identical Souls of the Sparks of
his own essence. This appears to me a faint sketch of
a system of Salvation which does not affront our reason
and humanity — I am convinced that many difficulties
which Christians labour under would vanish before it —
there is one which even now Strikes me — the Salvation
of Children. In them the Spark or intelligence returns
to God wthput any idei^^^ having had no time to
learn of and Ido altered by the heart — or seat of the
human Passions. It is pretty generally suspected that
the chr [i] stian scheme has been coppied from the ancient
Persian and greek Philosophers. Why may they not
have made this simple thing even more simple for
common apprehension by introducing Mediators and
Personages in the same manner as in the heathen
mythology abstractions are personified [?] Seriously I
think it probable that this System of Soul-making — may
have been the Parent of all the more palpable and
personal Schemes of Redemption among the Zoroas-
trians[,] the Christians and the Hindoos. For as one part
of the human species must have their carved Jupiter;
so another part must have the palpable and named
Mediation^ and Sa\iour, their Christf,] their Oromanes
and their Vishnu. If what I have said should not be
plain enough, as I fear it may not be, I will but {for
put] you in the place where I began in this series of
thoughts — I mean, I began by seeing how man was
formed by circumstances — and what are circumstances?
— but touchstones of his heart? and what are touch-
stones? but proovings of his heart? and what are
proovings of his heart but fortifiers or alterers of his
nature? and what is his altered nature but his Soul? —
and what was his Soul before it came into the world and t
had these provings and alterations and perfectionings?
— ^An intelhgence— without Identity — and how is this
Identity to be made? Through the medium of the

^ Keats wrote ‘Mediation’ and altered the ra to an r without ^
deleting the preceding L

364

i8ig Letter

Heart? And how is the heart to become this Medium
but in a world of Circumstances? There now I think
what with Poetry and Theology you may thank your
Stars that my pen is not very long winded. Yesterday
I received two Letters from your Mother and Henry
which I shall send by young Birkbeck with this.

Friday — ^April 30 — ^Brown has been here rummaging
up some of my old sins — that is to say sonnets. I do not
think you remember them so I will copy them out as
well as two or three lately written. I have just written
one on Fame — ^which Brown is transcribing and he has
his book and mine. I must employ myself perhaps in
a sonnet on the same subject —

On Fame.

Tou cannot eat your cake and have it too, — Proverb.

How is that Man misled 1 , 4. i i

How fever’d is that Man/

Upon his mortal days with temperate blood
Who vexes all the leaves of his Life’s book
And robs his fair name of its maidenhood [:]

It is as if the rose should pluck herself
Or the ripe plumk^ finger its misty bloom
As if a clear Lake meddling with itself

Should -fin- cloud its pureness with a muddy gloom.
But the rose leaves herself upon the Briar
For winds to kiss and grateful Bees to 4 aste - feed
And the ripe plumb - will wea r still wears its dim attire[5]
The undisturbed Lake has crystal space —

Why then dionld maa-T ;?^* g..

An d

is - own - bright name deface
>-e- ur pleasures in his selfish fire

Spoil his salvation by a fierce miscreed[?]
Another on Fame

Fame like a wayward girl will still be coy
To those who woo her with too slavish knees

365

April

Letter 114

But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy
And dotes the more upon a. heart at ease —

She is a Gipsey will not speak to those
Who have not learnt to be content without her
A Jilt whose ear was never whisper’d close
Who think they scandal her who talk about her —
A very Gipsey is she Nilus bom,

Sister in law to jealous Potiphar:

Ye lovesick Bards, repay her scorn for scorn.

Ye lovelorn Artists madmen that ye are,

Make your best bow to her and bid adieu
Then if she likes it she will follow you.

To Sleep.^

O soft embalmer of the still midnight
Shutting with careful fingers and benign
Our gloom-pleas’d eyes embowered from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine —

^ The peculiarity of the rhyme system of this sonnet, the sestet
opening with rhymes to the close of the first quatrain and
beginning of the second, indicates clearly that this is one of the
experiments Keats mentions immediately after the ‘Ode to Psyche’
(page 369). In the last edition of Keats’s letters my father edited
he took some trouble to perfect this sonnet. He had no doubt on
re-examination of the holograph that Keats had written out for his
brother the version given above, but unfortunately he had mis-
taken the last word of the eleventh line for lord^ followed by a dash.
Mr. Frederick Page, who has collated Lord Crewe’s holograph
letter for me, assures me, however, that the word is Hords' and that
what my father interpreted as a dash is really an imperfect ‘j’ over
which adheres a tiny flake of paper but which is clearly legible through
the paper from the other side. My father’s advocacy of ^hoards'" vice
'lords\ supported by the Woodhouse transcript from some other
manuscript of Keats, is justifiable enough; and the idea of sub-
stituting Pressed daf for passed day in the ninth line, which he also
urged, was derived from the incomplete draft in the copy of
‘Milton’ given by Keats to Mr. and Mrs. Dilke. Although he then
declared that both words, ‘hoards’ and ‘tressed’, ‘should imhesi-
tatingly be adopted in the final text’, it is right to add that when he
was working on the ‘Oxford’ edition of Keats’s Poetical Works,
published in 1906, he reverted to the reading he had printed in his

366

Letter 1 14

1819

O soothest sleep, if so it please the[e] close
In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,

Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its dewy Charities —

Then save me or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow breeding many woes:

Save me from curious conscience that still lords
Its strength for darkness, borrowing like the- a Mole —
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards
And seal the hushed Casket of my soul.

The following Poem — the last I have written [ — ]is the
first and the only one with which I have taken even
moderate pains. I have for the most part dash’d of[f]
my lines in a hurry. This I have done leisurely — I think
it reads the more richly for it and will I hope encourage
me to write other thing[s] in even a more peac[e]able
and healthy spirit. You must recollect that Psyche was
not embodied as a goddess before the time of Apulieus
[jzV] the Platonist who lived after the A[u]gustan age,
and consequently the Goddess was never worshipped
or sacrificed to with any of the ancient fervour — and
perhaps never thought of in the old religion — I am more
orthodox that [for than] to let a heathen Goddess be
so neglected —

Ode to Psyche.

0 Goddess hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear.

And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
Even te- into thine own soft-chonched ear!

Surely I dreamt to-day; or did I see
The winged Psyche, with awaked eyes?

1 wander’d in a forest thoughtlessly,

And on the sudden, fainting with surprise.

library edition of 1883 from the manuscript in Sir Charles Dilke’s
copy of ‘Endymion’, which gives ^ passed^ and Hords\ and also
^burrowing^ instead of ^horrowing^ in the twelfth line. —

367

April

Letter 114

Saw two fair Creatures couched side by side
In deepest grass beneath the whisp’ring fan
Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
A Brooklet scarce espied
’Mid hush’d, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant eyed.
Blue, freckle-pink, and budded Syrian
They lay, calm-breathing on the bedded grass;
Their arms embraced and their pinions too;

Their lips touch’d not, but had not bid adieu.

As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber.

And ready still past kisses to outnumber
At tender eye dawn of aurorian love.

The winged boy I knew:

But who wast thou O ^ happy happy dove?

His Psyche true?

O lastest [sic\ born, and loveliest vision far
Of all Olympus faded Hierarchy !

Fairer than Phoebe’s sapphire-region’d star,

Or Vesper amorous glow worm of the sky;
Fairer than these though Temple thou hadst none.
Nor Altar heap’d with flowers;

Nor virgin choir to make delicious moan
Upon the midnight hours;

No voice, no lute, no pipe[,] no incense sweet
From chain-swung Censer teeming —

No shrine, no grove, no Oracle, no heat
Of pale-mouth’d Prophet dreaming!

0 Bloomiest! though too late for antique vows;
Too, too late for the fond believing Lyre,

When holy were the haunted forest boughs.

Holy the Air, the water and the fire:

Yet even in these days so far retir’d
From happy Pieties, thy lucent fans.

Fluttering among the faint Olympians,

1 see, and sing by my own eyes inspired.

O let me be thy Choir and make a moan
Upon the midnight hours;

368

i8ig Letter ii^

Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
From swinged Censer teeming;

Thy Shrine, thy Grove, thy Oracle, thy heat
Of pale-mouth’d Prophet dreaming!

Yes I will be thy Priest and build a fane
In some untrodden region of my Mind,

Where branched thoughts new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind.

Far, far around shall those dark cluster’d trees
Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep.

And there by Zephyrs streams and birds and bees

The moss-lain Dryads shall be charm’d lull’d to sleep.

And in the midst of this wide-quietness

A rosy Sanctuary will I dress

With the wreath’d trellis of a working brain;

With buds and bells and stars without a name;^

With aU the gardener, fancy e’er could fram ^ feign
Who breeding flowers will never breed the same —
And there sh^l be for thee all soft delight
That shadowy thought can win;

A bright torch, and a casement ope at night
To let the warm Love in.

Here endethe y® Ode to Psyche.

Incipit altera Sonneta.

I have been endeavouring to discover a better Sonnet
Stanza than we have. The legitimate does not suit the
language over-weU from the pouncing rhymes — the
other kind appears too elegiac^ — and the couplet at the
end of it has seldom a pleasing effect — I do not pretend
to have succeeded — ^it wiU explain itself.

If by dull rhymes our English must be chaind
And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet,

^ Keats actually wrote ‘mane’ and left it so.

= He wrote ‘elegaiac’ and struck out the last a instead of the first.

369

May

Letter 115

Fetterd, in spite of pained Loveliness;

Let us find out, if we must be constrain’d,'

Sandals more interwoven and complete
To fit the naked foot of poesy;

Let us inspect the Lyre, and weigh the stress
Of every chord, and see what may be gain’d
By ear industrious, and attention meet;

Misers of sound and syllable, no less
Than Midas of his coinage, let us be
Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown.

So, if we may not let the muse be free.

She will be bound with Garlands of her own.

This is the third of May, and everything is in delight-
ful forwardness; the violets are not withered before the
peeping of the first rose. You must let me know every-
thing — ^how parcels go and come — what papers you
have, and what newspapers you want, and other things.
God bless you, my dear brother and sister,

Your ever affectionate brother,
John Keats.

115. To Miss KEATS, R‘‘ Abbey Esq^‘ Walthamstow.

\Postmark, Hampstead, 13 May 1819].

My dear Fanny,

I have a Letter from George at last — and it contains,
considering all things, good news — I have been with it
to day to M'’® Wylie’s, with whom I have left it. I shall
have it again as soon as possible and then I will walk
over and read it to you. They are quite well and
settled tolerably in comfort after a great deal of fatigue
and harrass. They had the good chance to meet at
Louisville with a Schoolfellow of ours. You may expect
me within three days. I am writing to night several

' The holograph ends with this line; the rest of the letter b from
the Jef&ey-Houghton version.

370

iSig Letter 1 1 7

notes concerning this to many of my friends.^ Good
night! god bless you.

John Keats —

1 16. To WILLIAM HASLAM, Frampton & Co,, Leaden-
hall Street,^

[Postmark, Hampstead, 13 May 1819.]

My dear Haslam,

We have news at last — and tolerably good — they have
not gone to the Settlement — they are both in good
Health — I read the letter to M^® Wylie to day and
requested her after her Sons had read it — they would
enclose it to you immediately which was faithfully
promised. Send it me like Lightning that I may take it
to Walthamstow.

Yours ever and amen

John Keats

1 1 7. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esq^^ Walthamstow,

[Postmark, Hampstead, 26 May 1819.]

My dear Fanny,

I have been looking for a fine day to pass at Waltham-
stow: there has not been one Morning (except Sunday
and then I was obliged to stay at home) that I could
depend upon. I have I am sorry to say had an accident

^ As far as I am aware, this and the next are all of the ‘several
notes’ which have as yet come to the surface; but it is possible that
others may be extant, and will be brought to light sooner or later.

® This address suggests the explanation of Keats’s statements
that the Framptons behaved well to Haslam after his father’s
death, and that he had got his father’s situation (page 343). It
would seem that father and son were both employed by a firm of
Framptons in Leadenhall Street. ‘Frampton & Co.’ I have not
traced; but old directories reveal the existence of Frampton and
Sons, wholesale grocers and tea-dealers of 34 Leadenhall Street;
and, as Keats’s guardian, Richard Abbey, was in that line, Keats’s
acquaintance with Haslam woiild thus be accounted for.

1 17. I have not come upon anything explanatory of the reasons
which Mr. William Haslam may have had for tearing ‘into a
thousand pieces’ the letter entrusted to him by his fnend.

371

Letter ii8 May

with the Letter — I sent it to Haslam and he returned it
torn into a thousand pieces. So I shall be obliged to tell
you all I can remember from Memory. You would have
heard from me before this, but that I was in continual
expectation of a fine Morning — I want also to speak to
you concerning myself. Mind I do not purpose to quit
England, as George [h]as done; but I am affraid I shall
be forced to take a voyage or two. However we will not
think of that for some Months. Should it be a fine
morning tomorrow you will see me.

Your affectionate Brother

John —

1 1 8. Tb Miss JEFFR[E] Y Teignmouth Devon,

C. Brown Esq^®’® Wentworth Place — Hampstead —
[Postmark^ 31 May 1819.]

My dear Lady,

I was making a day or two ago a general conflagra-
tion of all old Letters and Memorandums, which had
become of no interest to me — I made however, like the
Barber-inquisitor in Don Quixote some reservations —
among the rest your and your Sister’s Letters. I assure
you you had not entirely vanished from my Mind, or
even become shadows in my remembrance: it only
needed such a memento as your Letters to bring you
back to me. Why have I not written before? Why did
I not answer your Honiton Letter? I had no good
news for you — every concern of ours, (ours I wish I
could say) and still I must say ours — though George is
in America and I have no Brother left. Though in the
nudst of my troubles I had no relation except my young
Sister — I have had excellent friends. M"^ B. at whose
house I now am, invited me, — I have been with him
ever since. I could not make up my mind to let you
Imow these things. Nor should I now — but see what a
little interest will do — I want you to do me a Favor;
which I will first ask and then tell you the reasons.
Enquire in the Villages round Teignmouth if there is

372

iSig Letter iiZ

any Lodging commodious for its cheapness; and let me
know where it is and what price. I have the choice as
it were of two Poisons (yet I ought not to call this a
Poison) the one is voyaging to and from India for a few
years^; the other is leading a fevrous life alone with
Poetry — This latter will suit me best; for I cannot
resolve to give up my Studies.

It strikes me it would not be quite so proper for you
to make such inquiries — so give my love to your Mother
and ask her to do it. Yes, I would rather conquer my
indolence and strain my nerves at some grand Poem —
than be in a dunderheaded indiaman. Pray let no one
in Teignmouth know any thing of this. Fanny must by
this time have altered her name — perhaps you have

also — are you all alive? Give my Comp^® to

your Sister. I have had good news, (tho’ ^tis a queerish
world in which such things are call’d good) from George
— ^he and his wife are well. I will tell you more soon.
Especially don’t let the Newfoundland fishermen know
it — and especially no one else. I have been always till
now almost as careless of the world as a fly — my troubles
were all of the Imagination — My Brother George always
stood between me and any dealings with the world.
Now I find I must buffet it — I must take my stand upon
some vantage ground and begin to fight — I must choose
between despair & Energy — I choose the latter —
though the world has taken on a quakerish look with
me, which I once thought was impossible —

‘Nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass and glory in the flower.’^

I once thought this a Melancholist’s dream —

But why do I speak to you in this manner? No
believe me I do not write for a mere selfish purpose —

^ The idea was that of taking an appointment as sinrgeon on
board a vessel trading to the East Indies — an idea which was
revived later on: see the letter (201 ) which he wrote to Dilke before
leaving for Italy.

^ Gf. Wordsworth, "Ode on Immortality*, 11 . 181-2.

n 373 G

Letter 1 1 9 June

the manner in which I have written of myself will con-
vince you. I do not do so to Strangers. I have not quite
made up my mind. Write me on the receipt of this —
and again at your Leisure; between whiles you shall
hear from me again —

Your sincere friend

John Keats

1 19. Tb Miss JEFFREY,

Wentworth Place [Postmark, 9 June 1819].

My Dear young Lady,

I am exceedingly obliged by your two letters — ^Why
I did not answer your first immediately was that I have
had a little aversion to the South of Devon from the
continual remembrance of my Brother Tom. On that
account I do not return to my old Lodgings in Hamp-
stead though the people of the house have become
friends of mine — This however I could think nothing of,
it can do no more than keep one’s thoughts employed
for a day or two. I like your description of Bradley very
much and I dare say shall be there in the course of the
summer; it would be immediately but that a friend^
with ill health and to whom I am greatly attached call’d
on me yesterday and proposed my spending a Month
with him at the back of the Isle of Wight. This is just
the thing at present— the morrow will take care of itself
— I do not like the name of Bishop’s Teigntown^ — I
hope the road from Teignmouth to Bradley does not lie
that way— Your advice about the Indiaman is a very
wise advice, because it justs suits me, though you are
a little in the wrong concerning its destroying the

* This must, of course, have been James Rice, of whose ill
health when m the Isle of Wight with him Keats wrote later on.

^ Bishopsteignton— generally spelt in one word — is on the old
road to Kingsteignton and Newton Abbot. Bradley and its
beautiful woods lie a little to the west of Newton. If Miss Jeffrey
had suggested a stay at Bradley, she knew how to choose a spot for
a poet.

374

^^^9 Letter iiQ

energies of Mind: on the contrary it would be the finest
thing in the world to strengthen them — To be thrown
among people who care not for you, with whom you
have no sympathies forces the Mind upon its o-wn
resources, and leaves it free to make its speculations of
the differences of human character and to class them
with the calmness of a Botanist. An Indiaman is a little
world. One of the great reasons that the English have
produced the finest writers in the world is, that the
English world has ill-treated them during their lives
and foster’d them after their deaths. They have in
general been trampled aside into the bye paths of life
and seen the festerings of Society. They have not been
treated like the Raphaels of Italy. And where is the
Englishman and Poet who has given a magnificent
Entertainment at the christening of one of his Hero’s
Horses as Boyardo did? He had a Castle in the
Appenine. He was a noble Poet of Romance; not a
miserable and mighty Poet of the human Heart. The
middle age of Shakespeare was all c[l]ouded over; his
days were not more happy than Hamlet’s who is ,
perhaps more like Shakspeare himself in his common .
every day Life than any other of his Characters — Ben'
Johnson was a common Soldier and in the Low
countries, in the face of two armies, fought a single com-
bat with a french Trooper and slew him — For all this
I will not go on board an Indiaman, nor for example’s
sake run my head into dark alleys: I dare say my dis-
cipline is to come, and plenty of it too. I have been
very idle lately, very averse to writing; both firom the
overpowering idea of our dead poets and from abate-
ment of my love of fame. I hope I am a little more of a
Philosopher than I was, consequently a little less of a
versifying Pet-lamb.^ I have put no more in Print or
you should have had it. You will judge of my 1819
temper when I tell you that the thing I have most

‘ ‘A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!’ Sec the ‘Ode on Indo-
lence’, stanza 6.

375

O 2

Letter 120 June

enjoyed this year has been writing an ode to Indolence.
Why did you not make your long-haired sister put her
great brown hard fist to paper and cross your Letter?
Tell her when you write again that I expect chequer-
work — My friend Brown is sitting opposite me
employed in writing a Life of David. He reads me
passages as he writes them stuffing my infidel mouth as
though I were a young rook — Infidel Rooks do not
provender with Elisha’s Ravens. If he goes on as he
has begun your new Church had better not proceed,
for parsons will be superseeded — and of course the
Clerks must follow. Give my love to your Mother with
the assurance that I can never forget her anxiety for my
Brother Tom. Believe also that I shall ever remember
our leave-taking with

Ever sincerely yours
John Keats.

120. To Miss KEATS, R, Abbey^s Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place. {Postmark, 9 June 1819.]
My dear Fanny,

I shall be with you next monday at the farthest, I
could not keep my promise of seeing you again in a
week because I am in so unset [t] led a state of mind
about what I am to do, I have given up the Idea of the
Indiaman; I cannot resolve to give up my favorite
Studies: so I purpose to retire into the Country and set
my Mind at work once more. A Friend of Mine who has
an ill state of health called on me yesterday and pro-
posed to spend a litde time with him at the back of the
Isle of Wight where he said we might live very cheaply.
I agreed to his proposal. I have taken a great dislike to
Town I never go there — some one is always calling one
[sic] me and as we have spare beds they often stop a
couple of days. I have written lately to some Acquaint-
ances in Devonshire concer[n]ing a cheap Lodging and
they have been very kind in letting me know all I
wanted. They have described a pleasant place which I

376

i 8 ig Letter 12 1

think I shall eventually retire to. How came you on with
my young Master Y orkshire Man ? Did not M^® A. sport
her Carriage and one? They really surprised me with
super civility — how did A. manage it? How is the

old tadpole gardener and little Master next door? it is
to be hop'd they will both die some of these days. Not
having been to Town I have not heard whether M^ A.
purposes to retire from business. Do let me know if you
have heard any thing more about it. I[f] he should not
I shall be very disappointed. If any one deserves to be
put to his shifts it is that Hodgkinson. As for the other
he would live a long time upon his fat and be none the
worse for a good long lent. How came milidi to give
one Lisbon wine — ^had she drained the Gooseberry?
Truly I cannot delay making another visit — asked to
take Lunch, whether I will have ale, wine[ — ^jtake
sugar, — objection to green — ^like cream — thin bread and
butter — another cup — agreeable — enough sugar — ^little
more cream — too weak — 12 shilHn &c &c &c lord I
must come again

We are just going to Dinner. I must must^ with this
to the Post —

Your affectionate Brother

John—

12 1, ro JAMES ELMES Esq”.

Wentworth Place Hampstead —

[Saturday Evening, 12 June 1819.]
Sir,

I did not see your Note till this Saturday evening, or
I should have answered it sooner — ^However as it hap-

^ Doubtless the second ‘must’ was wrongly written for ‘run’,
‘rush’, or some such word.

121. The original letter, in the Manuscript Department of the
British Museum (Add. MS. 22130 f. 88), bears a note signed
‘J. E.’ that the letter is ‘about a sonnet to Haydon’. But I do not
think this is the case, and scarcely doubt that the real subj‘ect is the
‘Ode to a Nightingale’, which appeared in the ‘Annals of the Fine
Arts’, imder the editorship of James Elmes, in July 1819. I do not

377

Letter 122 June

pens I have but just received the Book which contains
the only copy of the verses in question. I have asked
for it repe[a]tedly ever since I promised M"" Haydon
and could not help the delay; which I regret. The
verses can be struck out in no time, and will I hope be
quite in time. If you think it at all necessary a proof
may be forwarded; but as I shall transcribe it fairly
perhaps there may be no need.

I am. Sir

Your obed^. Serv^

John Keats —

122. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esq^^ Walthamstow,
Wentworth Place [Postmark, Lombard Street, 14 June 1819.]

My dear Fanny,

I cannot be with you to day for two reasons — I
have my sore-throat coming again to prevent my walk-
ing — I do not happen just at present to be flush of
silver so that I might ride. Tomorrow I am engaged —
but the day after you shall see me. Brown is waiting
for me as we are going to Town together, so good bye.

Your affectionate Brother

John

think Keats would call a sonnet or sonnets ‘the verses in question’;
but he would very likely apply to the Ode both that term and the
term ‘those lines’, which he uses in the next letter to Haydon (p.
381) in regard, as it seems to me, to the same poem as he here
mentions to Elmes. Supposing the date to which I have assigned
that letter to be right — and I have no doubt about it — this one
clearly belongs to the 12 th of June 1819. The letter has no address
outside — merely ‘James Elmes Esq^®’ at the foot of the page.

122. It may be assumed that it was a walk home at night that
Keats feared to undertake in consequence of the state of his throat.
Otherwise this little note would seem to indicate a more serious
premonitory condition of things than we have any warrant to
suppose, seeing that the time was the middle of June, when, if at all,
one would suppose, a walk to Walthamstow and back might have
been safely undertien.

378

Letter 123

1819

123. ro FANNY KEATS.

Wentworth Place [16 June 1819.]

My dear Fanny,

Still I cannot afFo[r]d to spend money by Coachire
and still my throat is not well enough to warrant my
walking. I went yesterday to ask Abbey for some
money; but I could not on account of a Letter he
showed me from my Aunt’s Solicitor. You do not
understand the business. I trust it will not in the end
be detrimental to you. I am going to try the Press onece
more, and to that end shall retire to live cheaply
in the country and compose myself and verses as well as
I can. I have very good friends ready to help me — and
I am the more bound to be careful of the money they
lend me. It will all be weU in the course of a year I hope.
I am confident of it, so do not let it trouble you at all.

Abbey showed me a Letter he had received from
George containing the news of the birth of a Niece for us
— and all doing well — he said he would take it to you —
so I suppose to day you will see it. I was preparing to
enqu[i]re for a Situation with an Apothecary, but
Brown persuad[e]s me to try the press once more;
so I will with all my industry and ability. Eice
a friend of mine in ill health has proposed ret [i] ring to
the back of the isle of wight — ^which I hope will be cheap
in the summer — I am sure it will in the winter. Thence
you shall frequently hear from me and in the Letters
I will coppy those lines I may write which will be most
pleasing to you in the confidence you wiU show them to
no one. I have not run quite aground yet I hope,
having written this morning to several people to whom
I have lent money, requesting repayment. I shall hence-
fore shake off my indolent fits, and among other

123. This letter has no address or postmark. The second
sentence evidently refers to the visit to Abbey that is mentioned in
the next letter to Haydon as having taken place ‘the day before
yesterday’. If therefore the 17th of June is the right date for that
letter, the i6th is the right date for this.

379

Letter 1 24 June

reformation be more diligent in writing to you and
mind you always answer me. I shall be obliged to go
out of town on Saturday^ and shall have no money till
tomorrow, so I am very sorry to think I shall not be able
to come to Walthamstow. The Head Seve[r]n did
of me is now too dear, but here inclosed is a very capital
Profile done by M'' Brown. I will write again on
Monday or Tuesday — and Dilke are well.

Your affectionate Brother

John —

124. To BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Wentworth Place Thursday Morning [17 June 1819].
My dear Haydon,

I know you will not be prepared for this, because
your Pocket must needs be very low having been at ebb
tide so long: but what can I do? mine is lower. I was
the day before yesterday much in want of Money: but
some news I had yesterday has driven me into necessity.
I went to Abbey’s for some Cash, and he put into my

* The 1 6th of June 1819 was a Wednesday; so that he would
seem to infer that he wanted the rest of the time, after getting his
money, for preparations to depart. I do not know what day he
and Rice actually started; but the first letter to Fanny Brawne
shows that they were in the Isle of Wight on the ist of July and
probably on the 29th of Jime, if no earlier.

124. The original manuscript of this letter is wafered into
Haydon’s journal on the next leaf to that whereto the letters of the
1 2th and 13th of April are fastened. This one has an imperfect
postmark: the day of the month is 17 — the year 1819; and there
can be no doubt the month is June. The circumstances are clearly
those detailed in the previous letter to his sister, which, as clearly,
comes after the one postmarked the 14th of June and before that of
the 6th of July from Shanklin. It will be borne in mind that Keats
was only seeking from Haydon the return of money lent: that the
correspondence already given eventuated in a small loan to
Haydon there can be no doubt, seeing that Keats gives his brother
an account of the affair later on, in the Winchester journal-letter
of September 1819, p. 457,

380

^^^9 Letter 1 25

hand a letter from my Aunt’s Solicitor containing the
pleasant information that she was about to file a Bill in
Chancery against us. Now in case of a defeat Abbey
will be very undeservedly in the wrong box; so I could
not ask him for any more money, nor can I till the affair
is decided; and if it goes against him I must in con-
science make over to him what little he may have
remaining. My purpose is now to make one more
attempt in the Press — ^if that fail, 'ye hear no more of me’
as Chaucer says.^ Brown has lent me some money for the
present. Do borrow or beg some how what you can for
me. Do not suppose I am at all uncomfortable about
the matter in any other way than as it forces me to
apply to the needy. I could not send you those lines,
for I could not get the only copy of them before last
Saturday evening. I sent them Elmes on Monday.
I saw Monkhouse on Sunday — he told me you were
getting on with the Picture. I would have come over
to you to-day, but I am fully employed —

Yours ever sincerely

John Keats —

1 25. To Miss BRAWNE, Wentworth Place^ Hampstead^ Middx,
Shanklin Isle of Wight, Thursday [i July 1819].

\Postmarky Newport, 3 July 1819.]

My dearest Lady,

I am glad I had not an opportunity of sending off a
Letter which I wrote for you on Tuesday night — ’twas
too much like one out of Ro[u]sseau’s Heloise^. I am
more reasonable this morning. The morning is the
only proper time for me to write to a beautiful Girl
whom I love so much: for at night, when the lonely day
has closed, and the lonely, silent, unmusical Chamber
is waiting to receive me as into a Sepulchre, then

^ Probably a reminiscence or intentional avoidance of ‘Ye gete
no more of me’, Legend of Good WomeUy 1 . 1557.

^ Cf. Letter 180.

381

Letter 125 July

believe me my passion gets entirely the sway, then
I would not have you see those R[h]apsodies which I
once thought it impossible I should ever give way to,
and which I have often laughed at in another, for fear
you should [think me^] either too unhappy or perhaps
a little mad. I am now at a very pleasant Cottage
window, looking onto a beautiful hilly country, with
a glimpse of the sea; the morning is very fine. I do not
know how elastic my spirit might be, what pleasure I
might have in living here and breathing and wandering
as free as a stag about this beautiful Coast if the re-
membrance of you did not weigh so upon me. I have
never known any unalloy’d Happiness for many days
together: the death or sickness of some one^ has always
spoilt my hours — and now when none such troubles
oppress me, it is you must confess very hard that another
sort of pain should haunt me. Ask yourself my love
whether you are not very cruel to have so entrammelled
me, so destroyed my freedom. Will you confess this in
the Letter you must write immediately and do all you
can to console me in it — make it rich as a draught of
poppies to intoxicate me — ^write the softest words and
kiss them that I may at least touch my lips where yours
have been. For myself I know not how to express my
devotion to so fair a form: I want a brighter word than
bright, a fairer word than fair. I almost wish we were
butterflies and liv’d but three summer days — three such
days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty
common years could ever contain. But however selfish
I may feel, I^m sure I could never act selfishly: as I
told you a day or two before I left Hampstead, I will
never return to London if my Fate does not turn up

^ These two words are wanting in the original. As regards
laughter at lovers, see what Keats wrote to his brother George in
the Winchester journal-letter, beside the 'nonsense verses’ about
a Party of Lovers, both on p. 437.

^ It will be remembered that Thomas Keats had died about
seven months before the date of this letter.

382

^^^9 Letter 125

Pam^ or at least a Court-card. Though I could centre
my Happiness in you, I cannot expect to engross your
heart so entirely — indeed if I thought you felt as much
for me as I do for you at this moment I do not think
I could restrain myself from seeing you again tomorrow
for the delight of one embrace. But no — I must live
upon hope and Chance. In case of the worst that can
happen, I shall still love you — but what hatred shall
I have for another! Some lines I read the other day
are continually ringing a peal in my ears:

To see those eyes I prize above mine own
Dart favors on another —

And those sweet lips (yielding immortal nectar)

Be gently press’d by any but myself—

Think, think Francesca, what a cursed thing
It were beyond expression! ^

J.

Do write immediately. There is no Post from this
Place, so you must address Post Office, Newport, Isle of
Wight. I know before night I shall curse myself for
having sent you so cold a Letter; yet it is better to do it
as much in my senses as possible. Be as kind as the
distance will permit to your

J. Keats.

Present my Compliments to your mother, my love to

^ Pam is the knave of clubs in the game of loo.

Ev’n mighty Pam, that kings and queens o’erthrew,

And mow’d down armies in the fights of Loo,

Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid.

Falls undistinguish’d by the victor Spade! —

Pope’s ‘Rape of the Lock,’ m, 61-4.

* But should that will
To be so be forced, Marcelia; and I live
To see those eyes I prize above my own
Dart favours, though compell’d, upon another;

Or those sweet lips, yielding immortal nectar.

Be gently touched by any but myself;

Thmk, think, Marcelia, what a ciorsed thing
I were, beyond expression !

Sforza in Philip Massinger’s ‘Duke of Milan,’ i. iii, 200-7.

383

Letter 126 July

Margaret and best remembrances to your Brother —
you please so.^

126. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Es(f^ Walthamstow near
London,

Shanklin Isle of Wight Tuesday, July 6^^*
[Postmark, Newport, 8 July 1819].

My dear Fanny,

I have just received another Letter from George — ^full
of as good news as we can expect. I cannot inclose it to
you as I could wish, because it contains matters of
Business to which I must for a Week to come have an
immediate reference. I think I told you the purpose for
which I retired to this place — to try the fortune of my
Pen once more, and indeed I have some confidence in
my success: but in every event, believe my dear sister,
I shall be sufficiently comfortable, as, if I cannot lead
that life of competence and society I should wish, I have
enough knowledge of my gallipots^ to ensure me an
employment & maintainance. The Place I am in now
I visited once before ^ and a very pretty place it is
were it not for the bad Weather. Our window looks
over house tops and Cliffs onto the Sea, so that when
the Ships sail past the Cottage chimneys you may take
them for Weathercocks. We have Hill and Dale forest
and Mead and plenty of Lobsters. I was on the Ports-
mouth Coach the Sunday before last in that heavy
shower— and I may say I went to Portsmouth by water
— I got a little cold and as it always flies to my throat
I am a little out of sorts that way. There were on the

^ Fanny’s father, Mr. Samuel Brawne, a gentleman of inde-
pendent means, had died while she was still a child; and Mrs.
Brawne resided at Hampstead, with her three children, Fanny,
Samuel, and Margaret. Samuel, being next in age to Fanny, was
a youth going to school in 1819; and Margaret was a child at
this time.

* His own good-tempered me of this term does not look much
as if the vulgar ribaldry of ‘Blackwood’s Magazine’ rankled in his

3 In April 1817.

384

Letter 126

Coach with me some common french people, but very
well behaved — there was a woman amongst them to
whom the poor Men in ragged coats were more gallant
than ever I saw gentleman to Lady at a Ball. When we
got down to walk up hill — one of them pick’d a rose,
and on remounting gave it to the woman with 'Ma’m-
selle, voila une bell[e] rose!" I am so hard at work that
perhaps I should not have written to you for a day or
two if Georges Letter had not diverted my attention to
the interests and pleasure of those I love — and ever
believe that when I do not behave punctually it is from
a very necessary occupation, and that my silence is no
proof of my not thinlang of you, or that I want more
than a gentle phlip to bring you[r] image with
every claim before me. You have never seen mountains,
or I might tell you that the hill at Steephill is I think
almost of as much consequence as Mount Rydal on
Lake Winander. Bonchurch too is a very delightful
Place — as I can see by the Cottages all romantic —
covered with creepers and honeysuckles with roses and
eglantines peeping in at the windows. Fit abodes for
the People I guess live in them, romantic old maids
fond of no[vels,] or soldiers widows with a pretty join-
ture — or any body’s widows or aunts or anythings given
to Poetry and a Piano forte — as far as in ’em lies — as
people say. If I could play upon the Guitar I might
make my fortune with an old song — and get t[w]o
blessings at once — a Lady’s heart and the Rheumatism.
But I am almost affraid to peep at those little windows
— ^for a pretty window should show a pretty face, and
as the world goes chances are against me. I am living
with a very good fellow indeed, a M^ Rice. He is
unfortimately labouring under a complaint which has
for some years been a burthen to him. This is a pain
to me. He has a greater tact in speaking to people
of the village than I have, and in those matters is a
great amusement as well [as] a good friend to me. He
bought a ham the other day for say[s] he ^Keats, I don’t

385

Letter 127 July

think a Ham is a wrong thing to have in a house.’
Write to me^ Shanklin Isle of Wight, as soon as you can;
for a Letter is a great treat to me here — believeing me
ever

Your affectionate Brother, John —

127. To Miss BRAWNE, Wentworth Place ^ Hampstead, Middx,
July 8th. [Postmark, Newport, 10 July 1819.]

My sweet Girl,

Your Letter gave me more delight than any thing in
the world but yourself could do; indeed I am almost
astonished that any absent one should have that
luxurious power over my senses which I feel. Even
when I am not thinking of you I receive your influence
and a tenderer nature steeling [sic] upon me. All my
thoughts, my unhappiest days and nights, have I find
not at all cured me of my love of Beauty, but made it so
intense that I am miserable that you are not with me:
or rather breathe in that dull sort of patience that can-
not be called Life. I never knew before, what such
a love as you have made me feel, was; I did not believe
in it; my Fancy was afraid of it, lest it should burn me
up. But if you will fully love me, though there may be
some fire, ’twill not be more than we can bear when
moistened and bedewed with Pleasures. You mention
'horrid people’ and ask me whether it depend upon
them whether I see you again. Do understand me, my
love, in this. I have so much of you in my heart that
I must turn Mentor when I see a chance of harm
beffaling [sic] you. I would never see any thing but
Pleasure in your eyes, love on your lips, and Happiness
in your steps. I would wish to see you among those
amusements suitable to your inclinations and spirits; so
that our loves might be a delight in the midst of Pleasures
agreeable enough, rather than a resource from vexa-
tions and cares. But I doubt much, in case of the worst,
whether I shall be philosopher enough to follow my

386

i 8 ig Letter 127

own Lessons: if I saw my resolution give you a pain I
could not. Why may I not speak of your Beauty, since
without that I could never have lov’d you? — I cannot
conceive any beginning of such love as I have for you
but Beauty. There may be a sort of love for which,
without the least sneer at it, I have the highest respect
and can admire it in others: but it has not the richness,
the bloom, the full form, the enchantment of love after
my own heart. So let me speak of your Beauty, though
to my own endangering; if you coiild be so cruel to me
as to try elsewhere its Power. You say you are afraid
I shall think you do not love me — ^in saying this you
make me ache the more to be near you. I am at the
diligent use of my faculties here, I do not pass a day
without sprawling some blank verse or tagging some
rhymes; and here I must confess, that (since I am on
that subject) I love you the more in that I believe you
have liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.
I have met with women whom [^zV] I really think would
like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a
Novel. I have seen your Cornet,^ and only wish it was
a sign that poor Rice would get well whose illness makes
him rather a melancholy companion: and the more so
as to conquer his feelings and hide them from me, with
a forc’d Pun. I kiss’d your writing over in the hope
you had indulg’d me by leaving a trace of honey. What
was your dream? Tell it me and I will tell you the
interpretation thereof.

Ever yours, my love!

John Keats

Do not accuse me of delay — ^we have not here an
opportunity of sending letters every day. Write speedily.

^ On the 26th of June 1819 the head of a comet passed across the
face of the sun; it was not generally visible before the first days of

July.

387

Letter 128

Jtdy

128. To JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.

Shanklin n''. Ryde Isle of Wight. Sunday 1 2 July 1819.1
My dear Reynolds,

:i! * H« * ^ ^

You will be glad to hear, under my own hand
(tho’ Rice says we are like Sauntering Jack and Idle
Joe) how diligent I have been, and am being. I have
finish’d the Act,^ and in the interval of beginning the
2d have proceeded pretty well with Lamia, finishing
the I St part which consists of about 400 lines. * * * J
have great hopes of success, because I make use of my
Judgment more deliberately than I yet have done;
but in case of failure with the world, I shall find my
content. And here (as I know you have my good at
heart as much as a Brother), I can only repeat to you
what I have said to George — that however I sho^ like
to enjoy what the competences of life procure, I am
in no wise dashed at a different prospect.^ I have
spent too many thoughtful days and moralized thro’
too many nights for that, and fruitless wo"^ they be
indeed, if they did not by degrees make me look upon
the affairs of the world with a healthy deliberation. I
have of late been moulting: not for fresh feathers and
wings: they are gone, and in their stead I hope to have
a pair of patient sublunary legs. I have altered, not
from a Chrysalis into a butterfly, but the contrary;
having two little loopholes, whence I rnay look out into
the stage of the world: and that world on our coming
here I almost forgot. The first time I sat down to write,
I co^^ scarcely believe in the necessity for so doing. It
struck me as a great oddity. Yet the very corn which is
now so beautiful, as if it had only took to ripening yester-
day, is for the market; so, why sho^ I be delicate[?]'^ —

^ The 1 2 th of July 1819 was a Monday.

® Act I of ‘Otho the Great’.

2 See Letter 126 to Fanny, not George, Keats.

^ Lord Houghton says at this point — ‘Sir James Mackintosh,

388

Letter 1 29

129. To Miss BRAWNE, Wentworth Place ^ Hampstead^ Middx.

Shanklin Thursday Evening [15 July 1819?]

My love,

I have been in so irritable a state of health these two
or three last days, that I did not think I should be able
to write this week. Not that I was so ill, but so much so
as only to be capable of an unhealthy teasing letter. To
night I am greatly recovered only to feel the languor
I have felt after you touched with ardency. You say
you perhaps might have made me better: you would
then have made me worse: now you could quite effect
a cure: What fee my sweet Physician would I not give
you to do so. Do not call it folly, when I tell you I took
your letter last night to bed with me. In the morning
I found your name on the sealing wax obliterated. I
was startled at the bad omen till I recollected that it
must have happened in my dreams, and they you know
fall out by contraries. You must have found out by this
time I am a little given to bode ill like the raven; it is
my misfortune not my fault; it has proceeded from the
general tenor of the circumstances of my life, and
rendered every event suspicious. However I will no
more trouble either you or myself with sad Prophecies;

who had openly protested against the mode of criticism employed
against ‘‘Endymion”, and had said, in a letter still extant, that
“such attacks will interest every liberal mind in the author’s
success”, writing to Messrs. Taylor, on the 19th of July in this year^
enquires, “Have you any other literary novelties in verse? I very
much admire your young poet, with all his singularities. Where
is he? and what high design does he meditate?” ’

139. This letter appears to belong between those of the 8th and
25 th of July 1819; and of the two Thursdays between those dates
it seems likelier that the 15th would be the one than that the letter
should have been written so near the 25th as on the 22nd. The
original having been mislaid, I have not been able to take the
evidence of the postmark. It will be noticed that at the close he
speaks of a weekly exchange of letters with Miss Brawne; and by
placing this letter at the 15th this programme is pretty nearly
realized so far as Keats’s letters from the Isle of Wight are con-
cerned.

II

389

H

Letter 129 July

though so far I am pleased at it as it has given me
opportunity to love your disinterestedness towards me,
I can be a raven n6'"more; you and pleasure take
possession of me at the same moment. I am afraid you
have been unwell. If through me illness have touched
you (but it must be with a very gentle hand) I must be
selfish enough to feel a little glad at it. Will you forgive
me this? I have been reading lately an oriental tale of
a very beautiful color ^ — It is of a city of melancholy men,
all made so by this circumstance. Through a series of
adventures each one of them by turns reach [es] some
gardens of Paradise where they meet with a most
enchanting Lady; and just as they are going to embrace
her, she bids thent shut their eyes — they shut them —
and on opening their eyes again find themselves de-
scending to the earth in a magic basket. The remem-
brance of this Lady and their delights lost beyond all
recovery render them melancholy ever after. How I
applied this to you, my dear; how I palpitated at it;
how the certainty that you were in the same world with
myself, and though as beautiful, not so talismanic as
that Lady; how I could not bear you should be so you
must believe because I swear it by yourself. I cannot
say when I shall get a volume ready. I have three or
four stories half done, but as I cannot write for the mere
sake of the press, I am obliged to let them progress or lie
still as my fancy chooses. By Christmas perhaps they

The story in question is one of the many derivatives from the
Third Calender’s Story in ‘The Thousand and One Nights’ and
the somewhat similar tale of ‘The Man who laughed not’, included
in the notes to Lane’s ‘Arabian Nights’ and in the text of John
Payne’s^ translation of the complete work. I am indebted to
Dr. Remhold Kohler, Librarian of the Grand-ducal Library of
Weimar, for id^tifying the particular variant referred to by
Keats, as the ‘Histoire de la Corbeille’, in the ‘Nouveaux Contes
Orientaux’ of the Comte de Caylois. William Morris’s beautiful
poem ^ ‘The Man who never laughed again’, in ‘The Earthly
Paradise’, has familiarized to English readers one variant of the
legend.

390

^^^9 Letter 129

may appear/ but I am not yet sure they ever will.
'Twill be no matter, for Poems are as common as news-
papers and I do not see why it is a greater crime in me
than in another to let the verses of an half-fledged brain
tumble into the reading-rooms and drawing room
windows. Rice has been better lately than usual: he is
not suffering from any neglect of his parents who have
for some years been able to appreciate him better than
they did in his first youth, and are now devoted to his
comfort. To-morrow I shall, if my health continues to
improve during the night, take a look fa[r]ther about
the country, and spy at the parties about here who
come hunting after the picturesque like beagles. It is
astonishing how they raven down scenery like children
do sweetmeats. The wondrous Chine here is a ver^'
great Lion: I wish I had as many guineas as there have
been spy-glasses in it. I have been, I cannot tell why,
in capital spirits this last hour. What reason? When
I have to take my candle and retire to a lonely room,
without the thought as I fall asleep, of seeing you to-
morrow morning? or the next day, or the next — ^it takes
on the appearance of impossibility and eternity — I wall
say a month — I will say I wall see you in a month at
most, though no one but yourself should see me; if it be
but for an hour. I should not like to be so near you as
London without being continually with you: after
having once more kissed you Sweet I would rather be
here alone at my task than in the bustle and hateful
literary chitchat. Meantime you must woite to me — as
I will every week — ^for your letters keep me alive. My
sweet Girl I cannot speak my love for you. Good night !
and

Ever yours
John Keats

^ It wiU, of course, be remembered that no such collection
appeared until the following summer, when ‘Lamia, Isabella’, &c.
was published.

391

H 2

Letter 130

July

130. To Miss BRAWNE5 Wentworth Place ^ Hampstead^ Middx,

Sunday Night [25 July 1819]. {Postmark, 27 July 1819.1]
My sweet Girl,

I hope you did not blame me much for not obeying
your request of a Letter on Saturday: we have had four
in our small room playing at cards night and morning
leaving me no undisturb’d opportunity to write. Now
Rice and Martin ^ are gone I am at liberty. Brown to
my sorrow confirms the account you give of your ill
health. You cannot conceive how I ache to be with

you: how I would die for one hour for what is in the

world? I say you cannot conceive; it is impossible you
should look with such eyes upon me as I have upon you:
it cannot be. Forgive me if I wander a little this evening,
for I have been all day employ’d in a very abstr[a]ct
Poem^ and I am in deep love with you — two things
which must excuse me. I have, believe me, not been an
age in letting you take possession of me; the very first
week I knew you I wrote myself your vassal; but burnt
the Letter as the very next time I saw you I thought you
manifested some dislike to me. If you should ever feel
for Man at the first sight what I did for you, I am lost.
Yet I should not quarrel with you, but hate myself if
such a thing were to happen — only I should burst if the
thing were not as fine as a Man as you are as a Woman.
Perhaps I am too vehement, then fancy me on my knees,
especially when I mention a part of your Letter which
hurt me; you say speaking of M^ Severn ‘but you must
be satisfied in knowing that I admired you much more

* The word ‘Newport’ is not stamped on this letter, as on
previous ones; but it is pretty evident that Keats and his friend
were still at Shanklin.

2 John Martin, sometime of Holies Street, Cavendish Square,
publisher. He was now in partnership with Rodwell, iii Bond
Street, See note i, p. 50.

3 This may have reference to some passage in either ‘Lamia’ or
‘Hyperion’.

392

i 8 ig Letter 130

than your friend\ My dear love, I cannot believe there
ever was or ever could be any thing to admire in me
especially as far as sight goes — I cannot be admired, I
am not a thing to be admired. You are, I love you; all
I can bring you is a swooning admiration of your
Beauty. I hold that place among Men which snubnos’d
brunettes with meeting eyebrows do among women —
they are trash to me — unless I should find one among
them with a fire in her heart like the one that bums in
mine. You absorb me in spite of myself— you alone:
for I look not forward with any pleasure to what is
call’d being settled in the world; I tremble at domestic
cares — ^yet for you I would meet them, though if it
would leave you the happier I would rather die than
do so. I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks,
your Loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I
could have possession of them both in the same minute.^
I hate the world: it batters too much the wings of my
self-wil l, and would I could take a sweet poison from
your^ps to send me out of it. From no others would
I take it. I am indeed astonish’d to find myself so care-
less of all cha[r]ms but yours — rememb[e]ring as I do
the time when even a bit of ribband was a matter of
interest with me. What softer words can I find for you
after this — ^what it is I will not read. Nor will I say
more here, but in a Postscript answer any thing else
you may have mentioned in your Letter in so many
words — ^for I am distracted with a thousand thoughts.
I will imagine you Venus to-night and pray, pray, pray
to your star like a He[a]then.

Your’s ever, fair Star,

John Keats

My seal is mark’d like a family table cloth with my
Mother’s initial F for Fanny: put between my Father’s
initials. You will soon hear firom me again. Myrespect-

* Cf. ‘And so live ever — or else swoon to death.’ — ‘Bright Star’
sonnet.

393

Letter 131

ful Comp[limen]ts to your Mother. Tell Margaret' Pll
send her a reef of best rocks and tell Sam' I will give
him my light bay hunter if he will tie the Bishop hand
and foot and pack him in a hamper and send him down
for me to bathe him for his health with a Necklace of
good snubby stones about his Neck.^

131. To C. W. DILKE, Esq''®, Navy Pay Office, Somerset
House, London.

Shanklin Saturday Eveng [31 July 1819]
[Postmark, 2 August 1819.]

My dear Dilke,

I will not make my diligence an excuse for not writing
to you sooner— because I consider idleness a much
better plea. A Man in the hurry of business of any sort
is expected and ought to be expected to look to every
thing — ^his mind is in a whirl, and what matters it —
what whirl? But to require a Letter of a Man lost in
idleness is the utmost cruelty; you cut the thread of his
existence, you beat, you pummel him, you sell his goods
and chattels, you put him in prison; you impale him;
you crucify him. If I had not put pen to paper since I
saw you this would be to me a vi et armis taking up
before the Judge; ■ but having got over my darling
lounging habits a little, it is with scarcely any pain
I come to this dating from Shankling and D[ea]r
Dilke, The Isle of Wight is but so so &c. Rice and I
passed rather a dull time of it.^ I hope he will not
repent coming with me. He was unwell and I was not
in very good health: and I am affraid we made
each other worse by acting upon each others spirits.
We would grow as melancholy as need be. I confess

^ Fanny Brawne’s young sister and brother.

* I am unable to obtain any positive explanation of the allusion
made in this strange sentence. It is not, however, impossible that
‘the Bishop’ was merely a nickname of some one in the Hampstead
circle, — or perhaps the name of a dog.

3 Rice had gone away by the 125th of July: see Letter 1 30, p. 392.

394

iSig Letter 131

I cannot bear a sick person in a House especially alone
— ^it weighs upon me day and night — and more so when
perhaps the Case is irretrievable — Indeed I think Rice
is in a dangerous state. I have had a Letter from him
which speaks favourably of his health at present —
Brown and I are pretty well harnessed again to our dog-
cart. I mean the Tragedy which goes on sinkingly —
We are thinking of introducing an Elephant but have
not historical referance within reach to determine
us as to Otho’s Menagerie. When Brown first mention'd
this I took it for a joke; however he brings such plausible
reasons^ and discourses so eloquently on the dramatic
effect that I am giving it a serious consideration. The
Art of Poetry is not sufficient for us, and if we get on in
that as well as we do in painting we shall by next winter
crush the Reviews and the royal Academy. Indeed if
Brown would take a little of my advice he could not
fail to be first pallet[te] of his day. But odd as it may
appear, he says plainly that he cannot see any force in
my plea for putting Skies in the back ground — and leaving
indian ink out of an ash tree — The other day he was
sketching Shanklin Church and as I saw how the
business was going on, I challenged him to a trial of
skill — he lent me Pencil and Paper — ^we keep the
Sketches to contend for the Prize at the Gallery. I will
not say whose I think best — but really I do not think
Brown's done to the top of the Art. A word or two on
the Isle of Wight — I have been no further than Steep-
hill. If I may guess I should [say] that there is no finer
part in the Island than from this Place to Steephill — I
do not hesitate to say it is fine. Bonchurch is the best.
But I have been so many finer walks, with a back
ground of lake and mountain instead of the sea, that
I am not much touch'd with it, though I credit it for
all the Surprise I should have felt if it had taken my
cockney maidenhead. But I may call myself an old
Stager in the picturesque, and unless it be something
very large and overpowering I cannot receive any

395

Letter July

extraordinary reKsh. I am sorry to hear that Charles^
is so much oppress’d at Westminster: though I am sure
it will be the finest touch stone for his Metal in the
world — ^His troubles will grow day by day less, as his
age and strength increase. The very first Battle he wins
will lift him from the Tribe of Manasseh^ I do not know
how I should feel were I a Father — but I hope I should
strive with all my Power not to let the present trouble
me — ^When your Boy shall be twenty, ask him about
his childish troubles and he will have no more memory
of them than you have of yours. Brown tells me
Dilke sets off to day for Chichester — I am glad —
I was going to say she had a fine day — but there has
been a great Thunder cloud muttering over Hampshire
all day — I hope she is now at supper with a good
Appetite. So Reynolds’s Piece ^ succeeded — that is all
well.

Papers have with thanks been duly received. We
leave this Place on the 13^^ and will let you know where
we may be a few days after— Brown says he will write
when the fit comes on him. If you will stand law ex-
penses I’ll beat him into one before his time — ^When
I come to town I shall have a litde talk with you about
Brown and one Jenny Jacobs.^ Open daylight! he
don’t care. I am affraid there will be some more
feet for little stockings— Keats' making. (/ mean the
feet)] Brown here tried at a piece of Wit but it failed

^ Dilke’s only son, afterwards Sir Charles Wentworth Dilke
first Baronet of the name. 2 Cf. Judges, vi. 15, viii. 22. ’

3 ‘One, Two, Three, Four, Five: by Advertisement,’ a musical
entertainment in one act.

The patronymic recalls a passage in Keats’s Spenserian
stanzas on Brown (page 350) :

Nor in obscured purlieus would he seek
For curled Jewesses with ankles neat
Who as they walk abroad make tinkling with their feet.

The interpolations printed above in italics within brackets are of
course by Brown. They stand in his writijM in the original letter
in the Dilke collection.

396

1^19 Letter 132

him, as you see though long a brewing , — [this is a 2^ lie.]
Men should never despair — ^you see he has tried again
and succeeded to a miracle. — He wants to try again,
but as I have a right to an inside place in my own
Letter — I take possession.

Your sincere friend —

John Keats

132. To Miss BRAWWE, Wentworth Place ^ Hampstead^ Middx.

Shanklin, Thursday Night [5 August iSig],
[Postmark^ Newport, 9 August 1819].

My dear Girl,

You say you must not have any more such Letters
as the last: I’ll try that you shall not by running
obstinate the other way. Indeed I have not fair play —
I am not idle enough for proper downright love-letters —
I leave this minute a scene in our Tragedy and see you
(think it not blasphemy) through the mist of Plots,
speeches, counterplots and counterspeeches. The Lover
is madder than I am — I am nothing to him^ — he
has a figure like the Statue of Maleager [sic] and double
distilled fire in his heart. Thank God for my diligence !
were it not for that I should be miserable. I encourage
it, and strive not to think of you — but when I have
succeeded in doing so all day and as far as midnight,
you return, as soon as this artificial excitement goes off,
more severely from the fever I am left in. Upon my
soul I cannot say what you could like me for. I do not
think myself a fright any more than I do M^ A., M^ B.,
and M^ C. — ^yet if I were a woman I should not like
A. B. C. But enough of this. So you intend to hold me
to my promise of seeing you in a short time. I shall keep
it with as much sorrow as gladness: for I am not one of
the Paladins of old who liv’d upon water grass and

^ Few lovers in literature are ‘anything’ to Ludolph in ‘Otho
the Great’ for sheer hysterical abandonment. Probably a great
deal of the torture which that wretched prince is depicted as under-
going was painfully studied from experience.

397

Letter 132 August

smiles for years together. What though would I not
give to-night for the gratification of my eyes alone?
This day week we shall move to Winchester; for I feel
the want of a Library." Brown will leave me there to
pay a visit to M"" Snook at Bedhampton: in his absence
I will flit to you and back. I will stay very little while,
for as I am in a train of writing now I fear to disturb it
— ^let it have its course bad or good — in it I shall try my
own strength and the public pulse. At Winchester
I shall get your Letters more readily; and it being a
cathedral City I shall have a pleasure always a great
one to me when near a Cathedral, of reading them
during the service up and down the Aisle.

Friday Morning [6 August 1819]. — Just as I had
written thus far last night, Brown came down in his
morning coat and nightcap, saying he had been
refresh’d by a good sleep and was very hungry. I left
him eating and went to bed, being too tired to enter
into any discussions. You would delight very greatly in
the walks about here; the Cliffs, woods, hills, sands,
rocks, &c. about here. They are however not so fine
but I shall give them a hearty good bye to exchange
them for my Cathedral. — ^Yet again I am not so tired of
Scenery as to hate Switzerland. We might spend a
pleasant year at Berne or Zurich — if it should please
Venus to hear my ‘Beseech thee to hear us O Goddess’.
And if she should hear, God forbid we should what
people call, settle — turn into a pond, a stagnant Lethe —
a vile crescent, row or buildings. Better be imprudent
moveables than prudent fixtures. Open my Mouth at
the Street door like the Lion’s head at Venice to
receive hateful cards, letters, messages. Go out and
wither at tea parties; freeze at dinners; bake at dances;
simmer at routs. No my love, trust yourself to me and
I will find you nobler amusements, fortune favouring.

He did not find one; for, in his letter (p. 475) to Haydon from
Winchester, dated the 3rd of October 1819, he says: *I came to this
place in the hopes of meeting with a Library, but was disappointed.’

398

Letter 133

I fear you will not receive this till Sunday or Monday: as
the irishman^ would wTite do not in the mean while hate
me. I long to be off for Winchester, for I begin to dislike
the very door-posts here — the names, the pebbles. You
ask after my health, not telling me whether you are better.
I am quite well. You going out is no proof that you are:
how is it? Late hours w^l do you great harm. What fair-
ing is it? I was alone for a couple of days while Brown
went gadding over the country with his ancient knapsack.
Now I like his society as well as any Man’s, yet regretted
his return — ^it broke in upon me like a Thunderbolt. I had
got in a dream among my Books — really luxuriating in a
solitude and silence you alone should have disturb’d.

Your ever affectionate

John Keats.

133. To the, Rev^ B. BAILEY, Andrews y N.B.

[Postmarky Winchester 14 August 1819].

We removed to Winchester for the convenience of
a Library and find it an exceeding pleasant Town, en-
riched with a beautiful Cathedrall and surrounded by
a fresh-looking country. We are in tolerably good and
cheap Lodgings. Within these two Months I have
written 1500 Lines, most of which besides many more
of prior composition you will probably see by next
Winter. I have written two Tales, one from Boc-
cac[c]io call’d the Pot of Basil; and another call’d
Agnes’ Eve on a popular superstition; and a third
call’d Lamia — half finished. I have also been writing
parts of my Hyperion and completed 4 Acts of a
Tragedy. It was the opinion of most of my fiiends that
I should never be able to write a scene. I w^ endeavour
to wipe away the prejudice — I sincerely hope you will

^ Keats, though very lavish of his capitals in common nouns,
frequently wrote proper names without them — occasionally spelt
even ‘God’ with a small g, in the next letter but one ‘Romeo’
with a small r,and in letters 141 and 164 ‘French’ and ‘France’ with
a small/.

399

Letter 134 August

be pleased when my Labours since we last saw each
other shall reach you. One of my Ambitions is to make
as great a revolution in modern dramatic writing as
Kean has done in acting — another to upset the' drawling
of the blue stocking literary world — ^if in the course of
a few years I do these two things I ought to die content
— and my friends should drink a dozen of Claret on my
Tomb. I am convinced more and more every day that
(excepting the human friend Philosopher) a fine writer
is the most genuine Being in the World. Shakspeare 5
and the paradise Lost every day become greater !
wonders to me.^ I look upon fine Phrases like a Lover . '
I was glad to see, by a Passage in one of Brown’s Letters
some time ago from the north that you were in such
good Spirits.^ Since that you have been married and
in congra[tu]lating you I wish you every continuance
of them. Present my Respects to Bailey. This
sounds oddly to me, and I dare say I do it awkwardly
enough: but I suppose by this time it is nothing new to
you — ^Brown’s remembrances to you — ^As far as I know
we shall remain at Winchester for a goodish while —
Ever your sincere friend

John Keats.

134. To Miss BRAWNE, Wentworth Place Hampstead, Middx,
Winchester August 17^^ 3 [Postmark, 16 August 1819,]

My dear Girl — ^what shall I say for myself? I have
been here four days and not yet written you — ’tis true

^ Gf. Letter 136, p. 406.

^ G. W. Dilke makes the following note against this passage: — ‘As
before mentioned Bailey made an offer to Mariaime Reynolds
which was declined. He entreated her to take time and think over
his proposal. Meanwhile he went to Scotland, fell in love with
Gleig’s sister, and married; much to the surprise of the Reynolds
family, who thought he had behaved ill, and it led to a discussion
and a quarrel.’

^ 3 The discrepancy between the date written by Keats and that
given in the postmark is curious as a comment on his frequent
confessions of ignorance as to the date.

400

i 8 ig Letter 134

I have had many teasing letters of business to dismiss —
and I have been in the ClawSj like a Serpent in an
Eagle’s, of the last act of our Tragedy.^ This is no
excuse; I know it; I do not presume to offer it. I have
no right either to ask a speedy answer to let me know
how lenient you are — I must remain some days in a
Mist — I see you through a Mist: as I dare say you do
me by this time. Believe in the first Letters I wrote you:
I assure you I felt as I wrote — I could not write so now.
The thousand images I have had pass through my brain
— my uneasy spirits — my unguess’d fate — all spread as
a veil between me and you — Remember I have had no
idle leisure to brood over you — ’tis well perhaps I have
not. I could not have endured the throng of Jealousies^
that used to haunt me before I had plunged so deeply
into imaginary interests. I would feign, as my sails are
set, sail on without an interruption for a Brace of
Months longer — I am in complete cue — ^in the fever;
and shall in these four Months do an immense deal —
This Page as my eye skims over it I see is excessively
unloverlike and ungallant — I cannot help it — I am no
officer in yawning quarters; no Parson-romeo. My
Mind is heap’d to the full; stuff’d like a cricket ball — ^if
I strive to fill it more it would burst. I know the
generallity of women would hate me for this; that
I should have so unsoften’d so hard a Mind as to forget
them; forget the brightest realities for the dull imagina-
tions of my own Brain. But I conjure you to give it
a fair thinking; and ask yourself whether ’tis not better
to explain my feelings to you, than write artificial
Passion — ^Besides you would see through it. It would be
vain to strive to deceive you. ’Tis harsh, harsh, I know
it — My heart seems now made of iron — I could not

^ Act V of *Otho the Great’ was, it wili be remembered, wholly
Keats’s, as regards both matter and manner, and not, like the
rest, a joint production schemed out by Brown and executed by
Keats.

2 Cf. ‘The Cap and Bells or the Jealousies.’

» 401

Letter 134 August

write a proper answer to an invitation to Idalia.' You
are my Judge: my forehead is on the ground. You seem
offended at a little simple innocent childish playfulness
in my last.^ I did not seriously mean to say that you
were endeavouring to make me keep my promise. I beg
your pardon for it. ’Tis butjwi you[r] Pride should
take the dl&rm.— seriously. You say I may do as I please
— I do not think with any conscience I can; my cash
resourses [«c] are for the present stopp’d; I fear for
some time. I spend no money but it increases my debts.
I have all my life thought very little of these matters —
they seem not to belong to me. It may be a proud
sentence; but, by heaven, I am as entirely above all
matters of interest as .the Sun is above the Earth — and
though of my own money I should be careless; of my
Friends I must be spare. You see how I go on — ^like so
man y strokes of a Hammer. I cannot help it — I am
impell’d, driven to it. I am not happy enough for
silken Phrases, and silver sentences. I can no more use
soothing words to you than if I were at this moment
engaged in a charge of Cavalry — Then you will say I
should not write at all — Should I not? This Winchester
is a fine place: a beautiful Cathedral and many other
ancient building[s] in the Environs. The little coffin of
a room at Shanklin is changed for a large room, where
I can promenade at my pleasure — looks out onto a
beautiful — blank side of a house. It is strange I should
like it better than the view of the sea from our window
at Shanklin. I began to hate the very posts there — the
voice of the old Lady over the way was getting a great
Plague. The Fisherman’s face never altered any more
than our black teapot — ^the [k]nob however was
knock’d off to my little relief. I am getting a great dis-
like of the picturesque; and can only relish it over again
by seeing you enjoy it. One of the pleasantest things

' i. e. Venus, so called from. Idalium in Cyprus, where she was
worshipped. See ‘Aeneid’, i. 693.

^ See page 397.

■402

^Sig Letter 135

I have seen lately was at Cowes. The Regent in his
Yatch^ (I think they spell it) was anchored oppoisite
— a beautiful vessel — and all the Yatchs and boats on
the coast were passing and repassing it; and curcuit-
ing and tacking about it in every direction — I
never beheld any thing so silent, light, and graceful —
As we pass’d over to Southampton, there was nearly an
accident. There came by a Boat well mann’d; with
t[w]o naval officers at the stem. Our Bow-lines took
the top of their little mast and snapped it off close by
the bo[a]rd — Had the mast been a little stouter they
would have been upset. In so trifling an event I could
not help admiring our seamen — Neither officer nor man
in the whole Boat moved a Muscle — they scarcely
notic’d it even with words. Forgive me for this flint-
worded Letter, and believe and see that I cannot think
of you without some sort of energy — though mal a
propos — Even as I leave off, it seems to me that a few
more moments thought of you would uncrystallize and
dissolve me. I must not give way to it — but turn to my
writing again — ^if I fail I shall die hard. O my love,
your lips are growing sweet again to my fancy — I must
forget them. Ever your affectionate

Keats —

135. To JOHN TAYLOR, Esq^®, Taylor and Hessey^ Fleet
Street^ London,

Winchester Monday mom. 24 [1S19].

My dear Taylor

You will perceive that I do not write you till I am
forced by necessity: that I am sorry for. You must for-
give me for entering abmbtly [rir] on the subject, merely

^ This orthography was not in Keats’s time wholly unauthorized ;
it was used by Evelyn and by Horace Walpole. To substitute the
spelling ‘yacht’ woxild be to represent Keats as thinking what he
did not tiiink.

* Monday was the 23rd of August and the Winchester postmark
is 23 Au 1819.

403

Letter 135 August

prefixing an entreaty that you will not consider my
business manner of wording and proceeding any dis-
trust of, or stirrup standing against you; but put it to
the account of a desire of order and regularity. I have
been rather unfortunate lately in money concerns —
from a threatened chancery suit. I was deprived at
once of all recourse to my Guardian. I relied a little on.
some of my debts being paid — ^which are of a tolerable
amount — but I have not had one pound refunded —
For these three Months Brown has advanced me money:
he is not at all flush and I am anxious to get some else-
where. We have together been engaged (this I should
wish to remain secret) in a Tragedy which I have just
finish’d; and from which we hope to share moderate
Profits. Being thus far connected. Brown proposed to
me, to stand with me responsible for any money you
may advance to me to drive through the summer — I
must observe again that it is not from want of reliance
on you[r] readiness to assist me that I offer a Bill; but
as a relief to myself from a too lax sensation of Life —
which ought to be responsible[,] which requires chains
for its own sake — duties to fulfil with the more earnest-
ness the less strictly they are imposed. Were I com-
pletely without hope — ^it might be different — but am
I not right to rejoice in the idea of not being Burthen-
some to my friends? I feel every confidence that if
I choose I may be a popular writer; that I will never
be; but for all that I will get a livelihood — I equally
dislike the favour of the public with the love of a
woman — they are both a cloying treacle to the wings
of independence. I shall ever consider them (People)
as debtors to me for verses, not myself to them for
admiration— which I can do without. I have of late
been indulging my spleen by composing a preface at
them: after all resolving never to write a preface at all.
There are so many verses,’ would I have said to them,
‘give me so much means to buy pleasure with as a relief
to my hours of labour’ — ^You will observe at the end of

404

^^^9 Letter 135

this if you put down the Letter ‘How a solitar\’ life
engenders pride and egotism!’ True: I know it does —
but this Pride and egotism will enable me to write finer
things than any thing else could — so I will indulge it.
Just so much as I am hu[m]bled by the genius above
my grasp, am I exalted and look with hate and con-
tempt upon the literary world — K Drummer boy who
holds out his hand familiarly to a field marshall [sic \ —
that Drummer boy with me is the good word and favour
of the public. Who would wish to be among the common-
place crowd of the little-famous — ^who are each indi-
vidually lost in a throng made up of themselves? is this
worth louting or playing the hypocrite for? To beg
suffrages for a seat on Ae benches of a myriad-aris-
tocracy in Letters? This is not wise — I am not a wise
man — ’Tis Pride. I will give you a definition of a proud
Man. He is a Man who has neither vanity nor wisdom
— one filFd with hatreds cannot be vain — neither can he
be wise. Pardon me for hammering instead of writing.
Remember me to Woodhouse Hessey and all in Percy
street.

Ever yours sincerely

John Keats

P.S. I have read what Brown has said on the other
side — ^He agrees with me that this manner of proceeding
might appear to[o] harsh, distant and indelicate with
you. This however will place all in a clear light. Had
I to borrow money of Brown and were in your house,
I should request the use of your name in the same
manner — ^

The following note from Brown occupies the ‘doublings’ of
this letter: —

Dear Sir,

Keats has told me the purport of this letter. Had it been in my
power to have prevented this application to you, I would have
done so. What property I have is locked up, sending me quarterly
& half yearly driblets, insufficient for the support of both of us.

^ For the response to this appeal see Letter 139, p. 41 1.

405

n

I

Letter 136

I am fiilly acquainted with his circumstances,— the monies owing
to him amount to ,^230,— the chancery suit will not I think
eventually be injurious to him, and his perseverance in the
employment of his talents,— will, in my opinion, in a short time,
place him in a situation more pleasant to his feelings as far as his
pocket is considered. Yet, for all_ this, I am aware, a man of
business should have every security in his power, and iCeats
especially would be uncomfortable at borrowing unless he gave all
in his power-, besides his own name to a Bill he has none to offer but
mine, which I readily agree to, and (speaking m a business-like
way) consider I possess ample security for doing so. It is therefore
to be considered as a matter of right on your part to demand my
name in conjunction with hisj and if you should be inclined to
judge otherwise, still it would be painful to him not to give you
a double security when he can do so, and painful to me to have it
withheld when it ought to be given. Your’s sincerely,

Chas Brown.

1 36. To JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.

Winchester, 25 August [1819].

My dear Reynolds,

By this post I write to Rice, who will tell you why we
have left Shanklin; and how we like this place. I have
indeed scarcely anything else to say, leading so mono-
tonous a life, except I was to give you a history of
sensations, and day-nightmares. You would not find me
at all unhappy in it; as all my thoughts and feelings
which are of the selfish nature, home speculations,
every day continue to make me more iron. I am con-
vinced more and more day by day that fine writing is,
next to fine doing the top thing in the world; the
Paradise Lost becomes a greater wonder.' The more
I know what my diligence may in time probably effect;
the more does my heart distend with Pride and
Obstinacy^ — I feel it in my strength to become a popular
writer — I feel it in my power to refuse the poisonous
suffrage of a public. My own being which I know to be
becomes of more consequence to me than the crowds of
Shadows in the shape of Man and Woman that inhabit

* Cf. ‘Paradise Lost’, i. 571-2.

406

‘ Cf. Letter 133, p. 400.

iSig Letter 137

a Kingdom. The soul is a world of itself, and has enough
to do in its own home. Those whom I know already,
and who have grown as it were a part of myself, I could
not do without: but for the rest of mankind, they are as
much a dream to me as Milton’s Hierarchies. I think
if I had a free and healthy and lasting organization of
heart, and lungs as strong as an ox’s so as to be able to
bear unhurt the shock of extreme thought and sensation
without weariness, I could pass my life very nearly alone
though it should last eighty years. But I feel my body
too weak to support me to the height, I am obliged con-
tinually to check myself and strive to be nothing. It
would be vain for me to endeavour after a more reason-
able manner of writing to you. I have nothing to speak
of but myself, and what can I say but what I feel? If you
should have any reason to regret this state of excitement
in me, I will turn the tide of your feelings in the right
Channel, by mentioning that it is the only state for the
best sort of Poetry — that is all I care for, all I live for.
Forgive me for not filling up the whole sheet; Letters
become so irksome to me, that the next time I leave
London I shall petition them all to be spar’d me. To
give me credit for constancy, and at the same time
wa[i]ve letter writing will be the highest indulgence I
can think of. Ever your affectionate friend

John Keats

137. To Miss KEATS, Abbeys Esq^^ Walthamstow near
London,

Winchester August 28^^ [Postmark, 29 August 1819].
My dear Fanny,

You must forgive me for suffering so long a space to
elapse between the dates of my letters. It is more than
a fortnight since I left Shanklin, chiefly for the purpose
of being near a tolerable Library, which after all is not
to be foimd in this place. However we like it very much:
it is the pleasantest Town I ever was in, and has the

407

2

Letter 137 August

most reccommendations of any. There is a fine Cathe-
drall which to me is always a source of amusement, part
of it built 1400 years ago; and the more modern by a
magnificent Man, you may have read of in our History,
called William of Wickham. The whole town is beauti-
fully wooded. From the Hill at the eastern extremity
you see a prospect of Streets, and old Buildings mixed
up with Trees. Then there are the most beautiful
streams about I ever saw— full of Trout. There is the
Foundation of S* Croix about half a mile in the fields —
a charity greatly abused. We have a Collegiate School,
a roman catholic School; a chapel ditto and a Nunnery!
And what improves it all is, the fashionable inhabitants
are all gone to Southampton. We are quiet— except
a fiddle that now and then goes like a gimlet through
my Ears. Our Landlady’s son not being quite a
Proficient. I have still been hard at work, having com-
pleted a Tragedy I think I spoke of to you. But there
I fear all my labour will be thrown away for the present,
as I hear Kean is going to America. For all I can
guess I shall remain here till the middle of October —
when M” Brown will return to his house at Hampstead:
whither I shall return with him. I some time since sent
the Letter I told you I had received from George to
Haslam with a request to let you and M”® Wylie see it:
he sent it back to me for very insufficient reasons with-
out doing so; and I was so irritated by it that I would
not send it travelling about by the post any more:
besides the postage is very expensive. I know M” Wylie
will think this a great neglect. I am sorry to say my
temper gets the better of me — I will not send it again.
Some correspondence I have had with M” Abbey about
George’s affairs — and I must confess he has behaved
very kindly to me as far as the wording of his Letter
went. Have you heard any further mention of his
retiring from Business? I am anxious to hear w[h]ether
Hodglmson,' whose name I cannot bear to write, will in

‘ Abbey’s junior partner, who had caused offence to George
408

i 8 ig Letter 137

any likelihood be thrown upon himself. The delightful
Weather we have had for two Months is the highest
gratification I could receive — no chill’d red noses — no
shivering — but fair atmosphere to think in — a clean
towel mark’d with the mangle and a basin of clear
Water to drench one’s face with ten times a day; no
need of much exercise — a Mile a day being quite
sufficient. My greatest regret is that I have not been
well enough to bathe though I have been two Months
by the sea side and live now close to delicious bathing —
Still I enjoy the Weather I adore fine Weather as the
greatest blessing I can have. Give me Books, fruit,
french wine and fine whether [^zV] and a little music out
of doors, playedby somebody I do not know — ^not pay the
price of one’s time for a gig [i'zV] — but a little chance
music: and I can pass a summer very quiedy without
caring much about Fat Louis, ^ fat Regent or the Duke
of Wellington. Why have you not written to me? Be-
cause you were in expectation of George’s Letter and
so waited? M^ Brown is copying out our Tragedy of
Otho the great in a superb style — better than it deserves
— there as I said is labour in vain for the present. I had
hoped to give Kean another opportunity to shine.
What can we do now? There is not another actor of
Tragedy in all London or Europe. The Covent Garden
Company is execrable. Young^ is the best among them
and he is a ranting, coxcombical tasteless Actor — a
Disgust a Nausea — and yet the very best after Kean.
What a set of barren asses are actors ! I should like now
to promenade round you[r] Gardens — apple tasting —
pear-tasting — ^plum-judging — apricot nibbling — ^peach
scrunching — ^nectarine-suc&ig and Melon carving. I
have also a great feeling for antiquated cherries full of
sugar cracks — and a white currant tree kept for com-

Keats when employed by Abbey. See also Letters 114, 147, and
210, pp. 338, 443 and 543.

^ Louis XVIII of France.

® Charles Mayne Young (i777“i856)*

409

Letter 138 September

pany, I admire lolling on a lawn by a water-lillied pond
to eat white currants and see gold fish: and go to the
Fair in the Evening if Tm good. There is not hope for
that — one is sure to get into some mess before evening.
Have these hot days I brag of so much been well or ill
for your health? Let me hear soon —

Your affectionate Brother

John

138. To JOHN TAYLOR, Esq^®, Taylor & Hessey, Fleet
Street^ LondonJ

Winchester Sept^ i^t [1819].

My dear Taylor,

Brown and I have been employed for these three
weeks past from time to time in writing to our different
friends: a dead silence is our ownly answer: we wait
morning after morning and nothing: tuesday is the day
for the Examiner to arrive, this is the second tuesday
which has been barren even of a news paper — Men
should be in imitation of Spirits 'responsive to each
other’s note’ Instead of that I pipe and no one hath
danced— We have been cursing this morning like
Mandeville and Lisle.^ With this I shall send by the

This letter which bears the Winchester postmark ‘31 Au 1819%
which was a Tuesday, is redirected in another handwriting to
Taylor, Market Place, Retford*.

* Cf. ‘Paradise Lost*, iv, 683.

3 Godwin’s ‘Mandeville — a Tale of the Seventeenth Century in
England’ (3 volumes, 1817). The allusion is to Mandeville’s
account of his Oxford life, and of young Lisle, with whom he
formed a friendship at the University :

‘Sometimes we would sit silent together for hours, like what
I have heard of a Quakers’ meeting; and then, suddenly seized
with that passion for change which is never utterly extinguished
in the human mind, would cry out as by mutual impulse, Gome,
now let us curse a little! In the art of cursing we were certainly
no ordinary proficients; and if an indifferent person could have
heard us, he would probably have been considerably struck, with
the solemnity, the fervour, the eloquence, the richness of style and
imagination, with which we discharged the function. The fulmina-
tions of Lisle were directed against Cromwel, his assistants and

410

i8ig Letter 1 39

same Post a third Letter to a friend of mine — ^who though
it is of consequence has neither answered right or
left. We have been much in want of news from the
Theatres having heard that Kean is going to America —
but no — not a word. Why I should come on you with
all these complaints, I cannot explain to myself:
especially as I suspect you must be in the Country. Do
answer me soon for I really must know something.
I must steer myself by the rudder of information. And
I am in want of a Month’s cash — now believe me I do
not apply to you as if I thought you had a gold Mine,
no. I understand these matters well enough now having
become well acquainted with the disbursements every
Man is tempted to make beyond his means — From this
time I have resolved myself to refuse all such requests:
tell me you are not flush and I shall thank you heartily.
That is a duty you owe to yourself as well as to me. I
have mulcted Brown to[o] much: let it be my last sin of
the kind. I will try what use it will be to insist on my
debts being paid.

Ever yours sincerely

John Keats —

139. To — HESSEY, Esq’^®* Taylor and Hessey, Fleet Street^
London,

Winchester, Sunday Sep^^ 5^^

My dear Hessey,

I received this morning yours of yesterday enclosing
a bank post bill. I have been in fear of the Win-

abettors, against Bradshaw and the regicides, and against the
whole body of the Republican and King-killing party. The
favourite object of my comminations were the pope, and the
cardinals, and the Jesuits, and all those, who, from the twelfth
century downwards, had devoted the reformers, and the preachers;

of the pure religion of Christ, to massacre and the flames While

we were thus engaged, we seemed to ourselves to be discharging
an indispensible duty; and our eyes sparkled, and our hearts
attained a higher degree of complacency, in proportion as we thus
proceeded, to ^‘xmpack our hearts with curses’’

411

Letter' 1^0 September

Chester Jail for some time; neither Brown nor myself
could get an ans wer from any one. This morning I hear
that some unknown part of a Sum due to me and for
which I had been waiting three weeks has been sent to
Chichester by mistake. Brown has borrow’d money of
a friend of his in Hampshire. A few days ago we had
but a few shillings left— and now between us we have
60;^ besides what is waiting in the Chichester post
office. To be a complete Midas I suppose some one will
send me a pair of asses ears by the waggon. There has
been such an embargo laid on our correspondence that
I can scarrcely [w] believe your Letter was only dated
yesterday. It seems miraculous.

Ever yours sincerely

John Keats.

I am sorry to hear such a bad account of himself from
Taylor.

140. To JOHN TAYLOR, Esq^®, Mr. James Taylor’s,
Retford, Notts.

Winchester Sept'’ ^th [1819] —

My dear Taylor,

This morning I received yonrs of the 2“^ and with it
a Letter from Hessey enclosing a Bank post Bill of 30^,
an ample sum I assure you: more I had no thought of.
You should no[t] have delay’d so long in Fleet Street;
leading an inactive life as you did was breathing poison:
you will find the country air do more for -you than you
expect. But it must be proper country air; you must
choose a spot. What sort of a place is Retford? You
should live in a dry, gravelly, barren, elevated country
open to the currents of air, and such a place is generally
furnish’d -with the finest springs. The neighbourhood
of a rich inclosed fulsome manured arrable Land
especially in a valley and almost as bad on a flat,
would be almost as bad as the smoke of fleet street.
Such a place as this was shanklin only open to the south

412

i 8 ig Letter 140

east and surrounded by hills in every other direction.
From this south east came the damps from the sea
which having no egress the air would jfor days together
take on an unhealthy idiosyncrasy altogether enervating
and weakening as a city Smoke — I felt it very much —
Since I have been at Winchester I have been improving
in health — it is not so confined — and there is on one side
of the city a dry chalky down where the air is worth
sixpence a pint. So if you do not get better at Retford
do not impute it to your own wealmess before you have
well considered the nature of the air and soil — especially
as Autumn is encroaching: for the autumn fogs over
a rich land is like the steam from cabbage water — ^What
makes the great difference between valemen[3] fiatland
men, and Mountaineers? The cultivation of the earth
in a great measure. Our health temperament and dis-
positions are taken more (notwithstanding the con-
tradiction of the history of cain and abel) from the air
we breathe than is generally imagined. See the
difference between a Peasant and a Butcher. I am con-
vinced a great cause of it is the difference of the air
they breathe — ^The one takes his mingled with the fume
of slaughter the other with the damp exhalement from
the glebe. The teeming damp that comes from the
plough furrow is of great effect in taming the fierceness
of a strong Man — more than his labour — let him be
mowing furze upon a Mountain and at the day’s end
his thoughts will run upon a withe axe if he ever had
handled one, — ^let him leave the Plough and he will
think quietly of his supper. Agriculture is the tamer of
men, the steam from the earth is like drinking their
mother’s milk. It enervates their natures. This appears
a great cause of the imbecility of the Chinese. J^d if
this sort of atmosphere is a mitigation to the energies of
a strong man; how much more must it injure a weak
one — ^unoccupied — ^unexercised — ^For what is the cause
of so many men maintaining a good state in Cities but
occupation — ^An idle man; a mam who is not sensitively

413

Letter 140 September

alive to self interest in a city cannot continue long in
good Health. This is easily explained. If you were to
walk leisurely through an unwholesome path in the
fens, with a little horror of them you would be sure to
have your ague. But let macbeth cross the same path,
with the dagger in the air leading him on, and he
would never have an ague or any thing like it. You
should give these things a serious consideration. Notts
I believe is a flat County. You should be on the slope
of one of the dry barren hills in Somersetshire. I am
convinced there is as harmful Air to be breath’d in the
country as in Town. I am greatly obliged to you for
your Letter. Perhaps if you had had strength and
spirits enough you would have felt offended by my
offering a note of hand; or rather express’d it. However,
I am sure you will give me credit for not in any wise
mistrusting you; or imagining you would take advantage
of any power I might give you over me. No, it pro-
ceeded from my serious resolve not to be a gratuitous
borrower[,] from a great desire to be correct in money
matters, to have in my desk the Chronicles of them to
refer to, and know my worldly non-estate: besides in
case of my death such documents would be but just: if
merely as memorials of the friendly turns I had had
done to me. Had I known of your illness I should not
of [for have] written in such fiery phrase in my first
Letter. I hope that shortly you will be able to bear six
times as much. Brown likes the Tragedy very much:
but he is not a fit judge, as I have only acted as Mid-
wife to his plot, and of course he will be fond of his child.
I do not think I can make you any extracts without
spoiling the effect of the whole when you come to read
it. I hope you will then not think my labour mi[s] spent.
Since I finish’d it I have finish’d Lamia: and am now
occupied in revising St. Agnes’ Eve and studying
Italian. Ariosto I find as diffuse, in parts, as Spenser.
I understand completely the difference between them
— I will cross the Letter with some lines from Lamia.

414

Letter 140

Brown’s kindest remembrances to you; and I am ever

your most sincere friend t

John Keats —

A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone
Supportress of the faery roof, made moan
Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade.
Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade
Of Palm and Plantain, met, from either side,

High in the midst in honour of the bride.

Two palms, and then two plantains, and so on.

From either side, their stems branch’d one to one

All down the aisled place; and beneath all

There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall to wall.

So canopied lay an untasted feast

Teeming a perfume. Lamia regal drest

Silverly pac’d about, and as she went.

In pale contented sort of discontent
Mission’d her viewless Servants to enrich
The splendid cornicing of nook and niche.

Between the Tree stems, wainscoated at first
Came jasper pannels; then, anon, there burst
Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees
And with the larger wove in small intriccacies.
Approving all, she faded at self will.

And shut the chamber up close hush’d and still,
Complete, and ready for the revels rude,

When dreadful guests would come to spoil her solitude
The day came soon and all the gossip rout.

O senseless Lycius ! Dolt I Fool! Madman! Lout!
Why would you murder happiness like yours.

And show to common eyes these secret bowers?

The Herd came, and each guest, with buzzy brain,
Arriving at the Portal, gaz’d amain.

And enter’d wondring; for they knew the Street,
Remember’d it from childhood all complete,

Without a gap, but ne’er before had seen
That royal Porch, that high-built fair demesne;

So in went one and all maz’d, curious and keen.

415

September

Letter 14 1

Save one; who look’d thereon with eye severe.

And, with calm-planted steps, walk’d in austere;
’Twas Appol[l]onius: — sometliing to[o] he laught;

As though some knotty problem, that had daft
His patient thought, had now begun to thaw.

And solve, and melt; — ’twas just as he foresaw!

Soft went the music, and the tables all
Sparkled beneath the viewless banneral
Of Magic; and dispos’d in double row
Seem’d edged Parterres of white bedded snow,
Adorn’d along the sides with living flowers
Conversing, laughing after sunny showers:

And, as the pleasant appetite entic’d,

Gush came the wine, and sheer the meats were slic’d.
Soft went the Music; the flat salver sang
Kiss’d by the emptied goblet,— and again it rang:
Swift bustled by the servants: — here ’s a health
Cries one — another — then, as if by stealth,

A Glutton drains a cup of Helicon,

Too fast down, down his throat the brief delight is gone.
‘Where is that Music?’ cries a Lady fair.

‘Aye, where is it my dear? Up in the air ?’

Another whispers. ‘Poo!’ saith Glutton ‘Mum!’

Then makes his shiny mouth a napkin for his thumb.
&c. &c. &c.

This is a good sample of the Story.

Brown is going to Chi[che]ster and Bedhampton
avisiting— I shall be alone here for three weeks—
expecting accounts of your health.

1 41. To Miss BRAWNE, Wentworth Place ^ Hampstead,

Fleet Street, Monday Morn [13 September 1819].
[Postmark^ Lombard Street, 14 September 1819.]
My dear Girl,

I have been hurried to town by a Letter from my
brother George; it is not of the brightest intelligence.
Am I mad or not? I came by the Friday night coach

416

i 8 ig Letter 142

and have not yet been to Ham[p]stead. Upon my soul
it is not my fault. I cannot resolve to mix any pleasure
with my days: they go one like another^ undistinguish-
able. If I were to see you to-day it would destroy the
half comfortable sullenness I enjoy at present into
dow[n]right perplexities. I love you too much to
venture to Hampstead, I feel it is not paying a visit, but
venturing into a fire. Que feraije? as the french novel
writers say in fun, and I in earnest: really what can I do?
Knowing well that my life must be passed in fatigue and
trouble, I have been endeavouring to wean myself from
you: for to myself alone what can be much of a misery?
As far as they regard myself I can despise all events:
but I cannot cease to love you. This morning I scarcely
know what I am doing. I am going to Walthamstow.
I shall return to Winchester to-morrow;^ whence you
shall hear from me in a few days. I am a Coward,
I cannot bear the pain of being happy: ’tis out of the
question: I must admit no thought of it.

Yours ever affectionately

John Keats

142. To JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS, 8 Duke Street,
Bath.

Winchester, Tuesday [21 September].

\Postmark, 22 September 1819.]

My dear Reynolds,

1 was very glad to hear from Woodhouse that you
would meet in the Country. I hope you will pass some
pleasant time together. Which I wish to make plea-
santer by a brace of letters, very highly to be estimated,
as really I have had very bad luck with this sort of game
this season. I 'kepen in solitarinesse,’^ for Brown has
gone a visiting. I am surprized myself at the pleasure
I live alone in. I can give you no news of the place here,

* He waited till the day after, and went to Winchester again on
Wednesday the 15th of September. See Letter 143, p. 421.

2 See ‘The Eve of St, Mark,’ page 456.

417

Letter 142 September

or any other idea of it but what I have to this effect
written to George. Yesterday I say to him was a grand
day for Winchester.’ They elected a Mayor. It was
indeed high time the place should receive some sort of
excitement. There was nothing going on: all asleep:
not an old maid’s sedan returning from a card party:
and if any old woman got tipsy at Christenings they
did not expose it in the streets. _ The first night tho’ of
our arrival here there was a slight uproar took place
at about 10 o’ the Clock. We heard distinctly a noise
patting doAvn the high Street as of a walking cane of the
good old Dowager breed; and a little minute after we
heard a less voice observe ‘What a noise the ferril made
— ^it must be loose.’ Brown wanted to call the Constables,
but I observed ’twas only a little breeze, and would
soon pass over. — ^The side streets here are excessively
maiden-lady like: the door steps always fresh from the
flannel. The knockers have a staid serious, nay almost
awfiil quietness about them. — I never saw so quiet
a collection of Lions’ and Rams’ heads. The doors [are]
most part black, with a little brass handle just above the
keyhole, so that in Winchester a man may very quietly
shut himself out of his own house. How beautiful the
season is now — How fine the air. A temperate sharpness
about it. Really, without joking, chaste weather — Dian
skies — I never lik’d stubble-fields so much as now — Aye
better than the chilly green of the Spring. Somehow
a stubble-plain looks warm — ^in the same way that some
pictures look warm. This struck me so much in my
Sunday’s walk that I composed upon it.^

I hope you are better employed than in gaping after
weather. I have been at different times so happy as
not to know what weather it was — No I will not copy

^ It will be noticed that this hximorous account of Winchester is
literally a scrap copied out of the long letter which Keats was
writing to his brother George; see page 452.

2 He composed the ode ‘To Autumn’, see the letter to Wood-
house following this.

418

iSig Letter 142

a parcel of verses, I always somehow associate Chatter-
ton with autumn. He is the purest writer in the English
Language. He has no French idiom^ or particles like
Chaucer — ’tis genuine English Idiom in English words.
I have given up Hyperion — there were too many
Miltonic inversions in it — Miltonic verse cannot be
written but in an artful or rather artist’s humour.
I wish to give myself up to other sensations. English
ought to be kept up. It may be interesting to you to
pick out some lines from Hyperion and put a mark X
to the false beauty proceeding from art, and one j] to
the true voice of feeUng. Upon my soul ’twas imagina-
tion [ — ]1 cannot make the ^stinction — Every now and
then there is a Miltonic intonation — ^But I cannot make
the division properly. The fact is I must take a walk;
for I am writing so long a letter to George: and have been
employed at it all the morning. You will ask, have I
heard from George, I am sorry to say not the best news
— I hope for better. This is the reason among others
that if I write to you it must be in such a scraplike way.
I have no meridian to date Interests from, or measure
circumstances. To-night I am aU in a mist; I scarcely
know what ’s what. But you knowing my unsteady and
vagarish disposition, will guess that all this turmoil will
be settled by to-morrow morning. It strikes me to-night
that I have led a very odd sort of life for the two or three
last years — Here and there — ^no anchor — I am glad of it.
— If you can get a peep at Babbicomb before you leave
the country, do. — I think it is the finest place I have
seen, or is to be seen in the South.^ There is a Cottage
there I took warm water at, that made up for the tea,
I have lately shirk’d [ot] some friends of ours, and I
advise you to do the same, I mean the blue-devils — I am

^ This and the passage at the end of the letter about Devonshire
read as if Keats had ^ter all carried away a much more lasting
impression of the beauties and advantages of the county than mght
be expected from his invectives against the moisture of the climate
when he was at Teignmouth with Tom.

419

Letter 143 September

never at home to them. You need not fear them while
you remain in Devonshire. There will be some of the
family waiting for you at the Coach office — but go by
another Coach.

I shall beg leave to have a third opinion in the first
discussion you have with Woodhouse — -just half-way,
between both. You know I will not give up my argu-
ment — In my walk to-day I stoop’d under a railway’^
that lay across my path, and ask’d myself 'Why I did
not get over.’ 'Because,’ answered I, 'no one wanted to
force you under — ’ I would give a guinea to be a reason-
able man — good sound sense — a says what he thinks, and
does what he says man — and did not take snuff. They
say men near death however mad they may have been,
come to their senses — I hope I shall here in this letter —
there is a decent space to be very sensible in — many
a good proverb has been in less — nay, I have heard of
the statutes at large being chang’d into the Statutes at
Small and printed for a watch paper.

Your sisters by this time must have got the Devon-
shire ees — short ees — ^you know ’em — they are the
prettiest ees in the Language. O how I admire the
middle-siz’d delicate Devonshire girls of about 15.
There was one at an Inn door holding a quartern of
brandy — the very thought of her kept me warm a whole
stage — and a 16 miler too — 'You’ll pardon me for being
jocular.’

Ever your affectionate friend
John Keats

143. To RIGHd WOODHOUSE, 8 Duke Street, Bath,

Tuesday — [21 September 1819].

[Postmark, Winchester, 22 September 1819].
Dear Woodhouse,

If you see what I have said to Reynolds before you
come to your own dose you will put it between the bars

^ So in Woodhouse’s transcript, but Lord Houghton reads
'railing’.

420

iSig Letter 143

unread; provided they have begun fires in Bath —
I should like a bit of fire to night — one likes a bit of fire
— How glorious the Blacksmiths’ shops look now. I
stood to night before one till I was very near listing for
one. Yes I should like a bit of fire — at a distance about
4 feet *not quite hob nob’^ — as words worth says. The
fact was I left Town on Wednesday — determined to be
in a hurry. You don’t eat travelling — ^you’re wrong —
beef — beef — I like the look of a sign. The Coachman’s
face says eat[5] eat, eat. I never feel more contemptible
than when I am sitting by a goodlooking coachman.
One is nothing — Perhaps I eat to persuade myself I am
somebody. You must be when slice after slice — ^but it
wont do — the Coachman nibbles a bit of bread — ^he’s
favour’d — ^he’s had a Call — a Hercules Methodist.
Does he live by bread alone? O that I were a Stage
Manager — ^perhaps that ’s as old as ‘doubling the Cape.’
‘How are ye old ’un? hey! why dont’e speak?’ O Aat
I had so sweet a Breast to sing as the Coachman hath 1
I’d give a penny for his Whisde — and bow to the Girls
on the road — ^Bow — nonsense — ’tis a nameless graceful
slang action. Its effect on the women suited to it must
be delightful. It touches ’em in the ribs — en passant —
very off hand — ^very fine — Sed thongum formosa vale
vale inquit Heigh ho la! You like Poetry better — so
you shall have some I was going to give Reynolds.
Season of Mists and mellow fhiitfulness,

Close bosom friend of the maturing sim;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless
The vines with fhiit that round the thatch e[a]ves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage trees,

And fill aU fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazle-shells
With a white kernel; to set budding more,

And stiU more later flowers for the bees
Untill they think warm days will never cease
For summer has o’er brimm’d the[i]r clammy Cells.

^ ‘The Idiot Boy’, 1 . 289.
n

421

K

September

Letter 143

Who hath not seen thee oft, amid thy store^?

Sometimes, whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half reap’d furrow sound asleep,

Based with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a Cyder press, with patient look.

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Aye, Where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too.

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue:

Then in a wailful quire the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives and dies;

And full grown Lambs loud bleat from hilly bourne:
Hedge crickets sing, and now with treble soft
The Redbreast whistles from a garden Croft
And gather’d Swallows twitter in the Skies — ^

I will give you a few lines from Hyperion on account
of a word in the last line of a fine sound —

Mortal ! that thou may’st understand aright
I humanize my sayings to thine ear,

Making comparisons of earthly things;

Or thou might’st better listen to the wind
Though it blows legend-laden th[r]ough the trees. ^

I think you will like the following description of the
Temple of Saturn —

^ Keats wrote ‘stores’.

® Gf. Meredith’s ‘Modem Love’, xlvii, i, ‘We saw the swallows
gathering in the sky’.

3 ‘The Fall of Hyperion’, canto ii, 11 . 1 - 6 ; 1 . 5 — ‘Whose language
is to thee a barren noise’, — ^is lacking in the holograph.

422

Letter 143

1819

I look’d around upon the carv-ed sides
Of an old Sanctuary, with roof august
Builded so high, it seem’d that filmed clouds
Might sail beneath, as o’er the stars of heaven.

So old the place was I remember none
The like upon the earth; what I had seen
Of grey Cathedrals, buttress’d walls, rent towers,
The superan[n] nations of sunk realms,

Or nature’s rocks hard toil’d in winds and waves,
Seem’d but the failing of decrepit things
To that eternal-domed monument.

Upon the marble, at my feet, there lay
Store of strange vessels and large draperies
Which needs had been of dyed asbestus wove.

Or in that place the moth could not corrupt,

So white the linen, so, in some, distinct
Ran imageries from a sombre loom.

All in a mingled heap confused there lay
Robes, golden tongs, censer and chafing dish
Girdles, and chains and holy jewelries.

Turning from these, with awe once more I rais’d
My eyes to fathom the space every way;

The embossed roof, the silent massive range
Of Columns north and south, ending in Mist
Of nothing; then to the eastward where black gates
Were shut against the Sunrise evermore.^

I see I have completely lost my direction. So I e’n
make you pay double postage. I had begun a Sonnet
in french of Ronsard — on my word ’tis very capable of
poetry^ — I was stop’d by a circumstance not worth
mentioning— I intended to call it La Platonique
Chevalresque — I like the second line —

Non ne suis si audace a languire -
De m’empresser au coeur vos tendres mains. &c.

^ The Fall of Hyperion,’ canto i, 11. 61-S6. In the holograph
there is no comma at the end of 1. 67, and none between ‘some^
and ‘distinct’ in 1. 76. 2 Gf. Letter 18, p. 41.

423

K 2

Letter 143 September

Here is what I had written for a sort of induction —

Fanatics have their dreams wherewith they weave
A Paradise for a Sect; the savage too
From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleep
Guesses at Heaven: pity these have not
Trac’d upon vellum or wild Indian leaf
The shadows of melodious utterance:

But bare of laurel they live, dream, and die.

For Poesy alone can tell her dreams,

With the fine spell of words alone can save
Imagination from the sable charm
And dumb enchantment.^

My Poetry will never be fit for any thing it does n’t
cover its ground well. You see he she is off her guard
and does n’t move a peg though Prose is coming up in
an awkward style enough. Now a blow in the spondee
will finish her — But let it get over this line of circum-
vallation^ if it can. These are unpleasant Phrase[s].

Now for all this you two must write me a letter
apiece — ^for as I know you will interread one another.
I am still writing to Reynolds as well as yourself. As
I say to George I am writing to you but at your Wife— ^
Anddontforget to tell Reynolds of the fairytale Undine.
Ask him if he has read any of the American Brown’s^
novels that Hazlitt speaks so much of. I have read one
c^l’d Wieland— very powerful — something like God-
win. Between Schiller and Godwin. A Domestic pro-
totype of S[c]hiller’s Armenian. More clever in plot
and incident than Godwin. A strange american scion
of the German trunk. Powerful genius — accomplish’d
horrors — I shall proceed tomorrow. Wednesday — I
am all in a Mess here — embowell’d in Winchester.

‘The Fall of Hyperion’, canto i, 11. i-i i.

* Gf. ‘The Spectator’, No. 127.

^ See Letter 147, p. 456, where he uses this phrase*

Charles Brockden Brown (1771-1810): ‘Wieland: or, the
Transformation’ was published in 1798.

424

iSig Letter 143

I wrote two Letters to Brown one from said Place, and
one from London, and neither of them has reach’d him.^
I have w^ritten him a long one this morning and am so
perplex’d as to be an object to Curiosity to you quiet
People. I hire myself a show w-aggan [sic] and trum-
petour. Here ’s the wonderful Man whose Letters
wont go! — All the infernal imaginary thunderstorms
from the Post office are beating upon me — so that
'unpoeted I write.’ Some curious body has detained
my Letters. I am sure of it. They know not what to
make of me — not an acquaintance in the Place — ^what
can I be about? so they open my Letters. Being in
a lodging house, and not so self will’d, but I am a httle
cowardly I dare not spout my rage against the Ceiling.
Besides I should be run through the Body by the major
in the next room. I don’t think his wdfe would attempt
such a thing.^ Now I am going to be serious. After
revolving certain circumstances in my Mind; chiefly
connected with a late american letter I have deter-
mined to take up my abode in a cheap Lodging in
Town and get employment in some of our elegant
Periodical Works. I will no longer live upon hopes.
I shall carry my plan into execution speedily — I shall
live in Westminster — ^from which a walk to the British
Museum will be noisy and muddy — but otherwise plea-
sant enough. I shall enquire of Hazlitt how the figures
of the market stand. O that I could [write] something
agrestunal, pleasant, fountain-vo[i]c’d — not plague
you with unconnected nonsense — ^But things won’t leave
me alone. I shall be in Town as soon as either of you. I
only wait for an answer firom Brown: if he receives mine
which is now a very moot point. I will give you a few
reasons why I shall persist in not publishing The Pot of
Basil. It is too smokeable. I can get it smoak’d at the

^ C 5 f. Letter 147 (24 September 1819), p. 465.

® This unnamed major and his v^e appear again in the
September journal letter to George Keats, No. 147 (25 September
1819), p. 469.

425

Letter 143 September

Carpenters shaving chimney much more cheaply.
There is too much inexperience of live {for life], and
simplicity of knowledge in it— which might do very well
after one’s death — but not while one is alive. There are
very few would look to the reality. I intend to use more
finesse with the Public. It is possible to write fine things
which cannot be laugh’d at in any way. Isabella is
what I should call were I a reviewer ‘A weak-sided
Poem’ with an amusing sober-sadness about it. Not
that I do not think Reynolds and you are quite right
about it— it is enough for me. But this will not do to be
public. If I may so say, in my dramatic capacity I
enter fully into the feeling: but in Propria Persona I
should be apt to quiz it myself. There is no objection
of this kind to Lamia — A. good deal to Agnes Eve —

only not so glaring. Would as I say I could write you
something sylvestran. But I have no time to think: I
am an otios^us-perpccupatus [w] Man. I think upon
crutches, like the folks in your Pump room. Have you
seen old Bramble' yet— they say he ’s on his last legs.
The gout did not treat the old Man well so the Physician
superseded it, and put the dropsy in office, who gets
very fat upon his new employment, and behaves worse
than the other to the old Man. But he’ll have his house
about his ears soon. We shall have another fall of Siege-
arms. I suppose M” Humphrey' persists in a big-belley
— poor thing she little thinks how she is spo[i]ling the
corners of her mouth — and making her nose quite
a piminy. M"" Humphrey I hear was giving a Lecture
in the gaming-room — when some one call’d out Spousey!
I hear too he has received a challenge from a gentleman
who lost that evening. The fact is M'’ H. is a mere
nothing out of his Bathroom. Old Tabitha died in
being bolstered up for a whist party. They had to cut

’ Matthew Bramble, Mrs Htimphry Clinker (nte Winifred
Jenkins) and Tabitha Bramble are characters in Smollett’s
‘Humphry Clinker’ (1771). Chowder was Tabitha Bramble’s dog.
Keats here is imagining a continuation of Smollett’s story.

426

i8ig Letter 144

again. Chowder died long ago — H. laments that
the last last time th.ty put him (i. e. to breed) he didn’t
take. They say he was a direct descendent of Cupid
and Veney in the Spectator. This may be easily known
by the Parish Books. If you do not wTite in the course
of a day or two — direct to me at Rice’s. Let me know
how you pass your times and how you are.

Your sincere friend

John Keats —

Hav’nt heard from Taylor —

144. To CHARLES W. DILKE, Esq^®, Navy Pay Office,
Somerset House, London.

Winchester Wednesday Eve. [22 September 1819.]
My dear Dilke,

Whatever I take to[o] for the time I cannot l[e]ave off
in a hur[r]y; letter writing is the go now; I have con-
sumed a duire at least. You must give me credit, now,
for a free Letter when it is in real[i]ty an interested one,
on two points, the one requestive, the other verging to
the pros and cons. As I expect they will lead me to seeing
and conferring with you in a short time, I shall not
enter at all upon a letter I have lately received^ from
george of not the most comfortable intelligence: but
proceed to these two points, which if you can theme out
in sexions and subsexions,^ for my edification, you will
oblige me. The first I shall begin upon, the other will
follow like a tail to a Comet. I have written to Brown
on the subject, and can but go over the same Ground
with you in a very short time, it not being more in

144. I suppose the original letter, though in Sir Charles Dilke’s
possession, was not sent; for it bears no trace of any postmark; and
Keats talks of not sending it, in his second letter to Brown of the
23rd of September 1819. It seems likely that the short letter of the
1st of October to Dilke was sent instead of this longer one.

^ On 10 September, see Letter 141, p. 416.

^ Keats was reading Burton’s ‘Anatomy’, a book divided into
Parts, Sections, Members, and Subsections. Cf. Letter 147, p. 459.

427

Letter 144 September

length than the ordinary paces between the Wickets.
It concerns a resolution I have taken to endeavour to
acquire something by temporary writing in periodical
works. You must agree with me how unwise it is to keep
feeding upon hopes, which depending so much on the
state of temper and imagination, appear gloomy or
bright, near or afar off just as it happens — Now an act
has three parts— to act, to do, and to perform^ — I mean
I should do something for my immediate welfare — Even
if I am swept away like a spider from a drawing room
I am determined to spin — ^home spun any thing for sale.
Yea I will traf[f]ic. Any thing but Mortgage my Brain
to Blackwood. I am determined not to he hke a dead
lump. If Reynolds had not taken to the law, would he
not lie earning something? Why cannot I [?] You may
say I want tact — that is easily acqui [r] ed. You may be up
to the slang of a cock pit in three battles. It is fortunate
I have not before this been tempted to venture on the
common. I should a year or two ago have spoken my
mind on every subject with the utmost simplicity. I
hope I have learnt a little better and am confident
I shall be able to cheat as well as any literary Jew of the
Market and shine up an article on any thing without
much knowle[d]ge of the subject, aye like an orange.
I would wilhngly have recourse to other means. I can-
not; I am fit for nothing but literatxire. Wait for the
issue of this Tragedy? No — 'there cannot be greater
uncertainties east[,] west, north, and south than con-
cerning dramatic composition. How many months
must I wait! Had I not better begin to look about me
now? If better events supersede this necessity what
harm will be done? I have no trust whatever on Poetry.
I dont wonder at it — the ma[r]vel it [/or is] to me how
people read so much of it. I think you will see the
reasonableness of my plan. To forward it I purpose
living in cheap Lodging in Town, that I may be in the
reach of books and information, of which there is here

* Cf. ‘Hamlet,’ v, i, 11-13.

428

iSig Letter 144

a plentiful lack. If I can [find] any place tolerably
comf[o]rtable I will settle myself and fag till I can
afford to buy Pleasure — ^w'hich if [I] never can afford
I must go without. Talking of Pleasure, this moment
I was writing with one hand, and with the other
holding to my Mouth a Nectarine — good god how
fine. It went down soft[,] pulpy, slushy, oozy — all its
delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a
large beatified Strawberry. I shall certainly breed.
Now I come to my request. Should you like me for
a neighbour again? Come, plump it out, I wont blush.
I should also be in the neighbourhood of Wylie,
which I shou[l]d be glad of, though that of course does
not influence me. Therefore will you look about
Marsham, or rodney^ street for a couple of rooms for me.
Rooms like the gaUants legs in massingers time 'as
good as the times allow, Sir.’ I have written to day to
Reynolds, and to Woodhouse. Do you know him? He
is a Friend of Taylors at whom Brown has taken one of
his funny odd dislikes. I’m sure he ’s wrong, because
Woodhouse likes my Poetry — conclusive. I ask your
opinion and yet I must say to you as to him, Brown,
that if you have any thing to say against it I shall be as
obstinate & heady as a Radical. By the Examiner
coming in your handwriting you must be in Town.
They have put [me] into spirits: Notwithstand[ing] my
aristocratic temper I cannot help being very much
pleas’d with the present public proceedings. I hope
sincerely I shall be able to put a Mite of help to the
Liberal side of the Question before I die. If you should
have left Town again (for your Holidays cannot be up
yet) let me know — ^when this is forwarded to you —
most extraordinary mischance has befallen two Letters
I wrote Brown^ — one from London whither I was

* C. W. Dilke puts a quaere against this name, and suggests
‘Romney’. That was probably what Keats meant; but what he
wrote was ‘rodney’, with a small r-

^ Neither of them extant so far as I am aware.

429

Letter 145 September

obliged to go on business for George'; the other from
this place since my return. I cant make it out. I am
excessively sorry for it. I shall hear from Brown and
you almost together for I have sent him a Letter
to day: you must positively agree with me or by the
delicate toe nails of the virgin I will not open your
Letters. If they are as David says ‘suspicious looking
letters’ I wont open them. If S‘- John had been half as
cunning he might have seen the revelations comfortably
in his own room, without giving angels the trouble of
breaking open seals.^ Remember me to M” D.— and the
Westmonisteranian and believe me

Ever your sincere friend

John Keats —

145. To CHARLES BROWN.

Winchester, 23 September 1819.

ije ^ ^

Now I am going to enter on the subject of self. It is
quite time I should set myself doing something, and live
no longer upon hopes. I have never yet exerted myself.
I am getting into an idle-minded, vicious way of life,
almost content to live upon others. In no period of my
life have I acted vdth any selfwill but in throwing up
the apothecary profession. That I do not repent of.
Look at Reynolds,^ if he was not in the law, he would be
acquiring, by his abilities, something towards his
support. My occupation is entirely literary: I will do so,
too. I will write, on the liberal side of the question, for
whoever will pa.y me. I have not known yet what it is
to be diligent. I purpose living in town in a cheap
lodging, and endeavouring, for a beginning, to get the
theatricals of some paper. When I can afford to com-

On 10 September, see Letter 141, p. 416.

^ Revelation^ v and vi.

3 Brown left the name blank in the transcript he gave Lord
Houghton, but that Reynolds was referred to is certain. See
Letter 144, p. 428.

430

i8ig Letter 145

pose deliberate poems, I will. I shall be in expectation
of an answer to this. Look on my side of the question.
I am convinced I am right. Suppose the tragedy should
succeed, — there will be no harm done. And here I will
take an opportunity of making a remark or two on our
friendship, and on all your good offices to me. I have
a natural timidity of mind in these matters; liking better
to take the feeling between us for granted, than to speak
of it. But, good God! what a short while you have
known me! I feel it a sort of duty thus to recapitulate,
however unpleasant it may be to you. You have been
living for others more than any man I know. This is
a vexation to me, because it has been depriving you, in
the very prime of your life, of pleasures which it was
your duty to procure. As I am speaking in general
terms, this may appear nonsense; you, perhaps, will not
understand it; but if you can go over, day by day, any
month of the last year, you will know what I mean.
On the whole however this is a subject that I cannot
express myself upon — I speculate upon it frequently;
and beheve me the end of my speculations is always an
anxiety for your happiness. This anxiety will not be
one of the least incitements to the plan I purpose pur-
suing. I had got into a habit of mind of looking towards
you as a help in all difficulties. This very habit would
be the parent of idleness and difficulties. You will see it
is a duty I owe myself to break the neck of it, I do noth-
ing for my subsistence — make no exertion. At the end
of another year you shall applaud me, not for verses,
but for conduct. If you live at Hampstead next winter

I like ******** and I cannot help it. On

that account I had better not live there. While I have
some immediate cash,^ I had better settle myself quietly,
and fag on as others do. I shall apply to Hazlitt, who
knows the market as well as any one, for something to
bring me in a few pounds as soon as possible. I shall not

^ ‘The cash/ observes Dilke, ‘borrowed from Taylor — ^,£'30
a fortnight before — on the 5th.’ See Letter 140, p. 412.

431

Letter 146 September

suffer my pride to hinder me. The whisper may go
round; I shall not hear it. If I can get an article in the
‘Edinburgh,’ I will. One must not be delicate. Nor let
this disturb you longer than a moment. I look forward
with a good hope that we sh^l one day be passing free,
untrammelled, unamdous time together. That can
never be if I continue a dead lump. ... I shall be ex-
pecting anxiously an answer from you. If it does not
arrive in a few days this will have miscarried, and I
s h all come straight to [Bedhampton?] before I go to
town, which you I am sure will agree had better be done
while I still have some ready cash. By the middle of
October I shall expect you in London. We will then set
at the theatres. If you have anything to gainsay, I shall
be even as the deaf adder which stoppeth her ears.'

Hi * * * * *

146. To CHARLES BROWN.

Winchester, 23 September 1819.

******

Do not suffer me to disturb you unpleasantly: I do
not mean that you should not suffer me to occupy your

^ Psalm Iviii, 4.

146. Lord Houghton says: — ‘The gloomy tone of this correspon-
dence soon brought Mr Brown to Winchester. Up to that period
Keats had always expressed himself most averse to writing for any
periodical publication. The short contributions to the ‘ ‘ Champion’ ’
were rather acts of friendship than literary labours. But now
Mr Brown, knowing what his pecuniary circumstances were, and
painfully conscious that the time spent in the creation of those
works which were destined to be the delight and solace of thou-
sands of his fellow-creatures, must be unprofitable to him in pro-
curing the necessities of life, and, above all, estimating at its due
value that spirit of independence which shrinks from materialising
the obligations of friendship into daily bread, gave every encourage-
ment to these designs, and only remonstrated against the project’
of taking a solitary lodging in Westminster, ‘on account of the pain
he would himself suffer from the privation of Keats’s society,’ and
‘from the belief that the scheme of life would not be successful’.

432

^^^9 Letter 147

thoughts, but to occupy them pleasantly; for I assure
you I am as far from being unhappy as possible.
Imaginary grievances have always been more my
torment than real ones. You know this well. Real ones
will never have any other effect upon me than to stimu-
late me to get out of or avoid them. This is easily
accounted for — Our imaginary^ woes are conjured up by
our passions, and are fostered by passionate feeling: our
real ones come of themselves, and are opposed by an
abstract exertion of mind. Real grievances are dis-
placers of passion. The imaginary nail a man down for
a sufferer, as on a cross; the real spur him up into an
agent.^ I wish, at one view, you would see my heart
towards you. ’Tis only from a high tone of feeling that
I can put that word upon paper — out of poetry. I
ought to have waited for your answer to my last^ before
I wrote this. I felt however compelled to make a re-
joinder to yours. I had written to Dilke^ on the subject
of my last, I scarcely know whether I shall send my
letter now. I think he would approve of my plan; it is
so evident. Nay, I am convinced, out and out, that by
prosing for a while in periodical works, I may maintain
myself decently.

^ ^ ^

147. To GEORGE AND GEORGIANA KEATS.

Winchester Sept^ Friday. [17 September 1819.]
My dear George,

I was closely employed in reading and composition,
in this place, whither I had come from Shanklin, for the
convenience of a library, when I received yoTir last,
dated July 24^* You will have seen by the short Letter
I wrote from Shanklin^ how matters stand between us

^ Gf. Letter 147, p. 435, ‘I feel I can bear real ills better than
imaginary ones.*

= i.e.. Letter 145. ^ Letter 144.

^ No such letter extant so far as I know.

433

Letter 147 September

and M” Jennings. They had not at all mov’d and I
knew no way of overcoming the inveterate obstinacy of
our affairs. On receiving your last I immediately took
a place in the same night’s coach for London. ^ Abbey

bdiaved extremely well to me, appointed Monday even-
ing at 7 to meet me and observed that he should drink
tea at that hour. I gave him the inclosed note and
showed him the last leaf of yours to me. He really
appeared anxious about it; promised he would forward
your money as quickly as possible. I think I men-
tioned that Walton was dead. He will apply to M’’ Glid-
don the partner; endeavour to get rid of M” Jennings’s
rlalm and be expeditious. He has received an answer
from my Letter to Fry^— that is something. We are
certainly in a very low estate; I say we, for I am in such
a situation that were it not for the assistance of Brown &
Taylor I must be as badly off as a Man can be. I could
not raise any sum by the promise of any Poem — no, not
by the mortgage of my intellect. We must wait a little
while. I really have hopes of success. I have finish’d
a Tragedy^ which if it succeeds will enable me to sell
what I may have in manuscript to a good a[d]vantage.
I have pass’d my time in reading, writing and fretting —
the last I intend to give up and stick to the other two.
They are the only chances of benefit to us. Your wants
will be a firesh spui^ to me. I assure you you shall more
than share what I can get, whilst I am still young — the
time may come when age will make me more selfish.
I have not been well treated by the world — and yet I
have capitally well. I do not know a Person to whom
so many purse strings would fly open as to me — ^if I
could possibly take advantage of them — which I cannot
do for none of the owners of these purses are rich. Your
present situation I will not suffer myself to dwell upon —
when misfortunes are so real we are glad enough to
escape them, and the thought of them. I cannot help

^ On 10 September, see Letter 141, p. 416.

* Not extant. ^ ‘Otho the Great.’ Cf. Letter 146.

434

^^^9 Letter 147

thinking Audubon^ a dishonest man. Why did he
make you believe that he was a Man of Property? How
is it his circumstances have altered so suddenly? In
truth I do not believe you fit to deal with the world, or
at least the american world. But good God — who can
avoid these chances — ^You have done your best — Take
matters as coolly as you can, and confidently expecting
help from England, act as if no help was nigh. Mine
I am sure is a tolerable tragedy — it would have been
a bank to me, if just as I had finish’d it I had not heard
of Kean’s resolution to go to America. That was the
worst news I could have had. There is no actor can do
the principal character^ besides Kean. At Co vent
Garden there is a great chance of its being damn’d.
Were it to succeed even there it would lift me out of the
mire. I mean the mire of a bad reputation which is
continually rising against me. My name with the
literary fashionables is vulgar — I am a weaver boy^ to
them — a Tragedy would l2t me out of this mess. And
mess it is as far as it regards our Pockets. But be not
cast down any more than I am; I feel I can bear real ills
better than imaginary ones*^. Whenever I find myself
growing vapourish, I rouse myself, wash and put on
a clean shirt brush my hair and clothes, tie my shoe-
strings neatly and in fact adonize as I were going out —
then all clean and comfortable I sit down to \vTite.^
This I find the greatest relief— Besides I am becoming
accustom’d to the privations of the pleasures of sense.
In the midst of the world I live like a Hermit. I have
forgot how to lay plans for enjoyment of any Pleasure.
I feel I can bear any thing, — any miseiy% even imprison-
ment — ^so long as I have neither wife nor child. Perhaps

^ Mr. Speed says Audubon, the naturalist, sold to George Keats
a boat loaded with merchandise, which at the time of the sale
Audubon knew to be at the bottom of the Mississippi River.’

* The part of Ludolph.

® See reference to cotton-spinners’ strike in this letter under
date 24 September, p. 467. ^ Gf. Letter 146, p. 433.

5 Gf. ‘Tristram Shandy’, Book ix. Chap, xiii,

435

utter 147 Sepumher

you will say yours are your only comfort they must be.

I return’d to Winchester the day before yesterday' and
am now here alone, for Brown some days before I left,
went to Bedhampton and there he will be for the next
fortnight. The term of his house ^ will be up in the
middle of next month when we shall return to Hamp-
stead. On Sunday I dined with your Mother land Hen
and Charles in Henrietta Street— M” and Miss Millar
were in the Country. Charles had been but a few days
returned from Paris. I dare say you will have letters
expressing the motives of his Journey. M'^ Wyhe and
Miss Waldegrave seem as quiet as two Mice there alone.

I did not show your last— I thought it better not. For
better times will certainly come and why should they
be unhappy in the meantime. On Monday Morning
I went to Walthamstow. Fanny look’d better than I had
seen her for some time. She complains of not hearing
from you appealing to me as if it was half my fault.
I had been so long in retirement that London appeared
a very odd place. I could not make out I had so many
acquaintance, and it was a whole day before I could feel
among Men. I had another strange sensation [—] there
was not one house I felt any pleasure to caU at. Reynolds
was in the Country and saving himself I am p[r]ejudiced
against all that family.^ Dilke and his wife and child
were in the Country. Taylor was at Nottingham. I was
out and everybody was out. I walk’d about the Streets
as in a strange land. Rice was the only one at home.
I pass’d some time with him. I know_ him better since
we have liv’d a month together in the isle of Wight. He

I He told Fanny Brawne on the 13th that he should return the
next day; but I presume he had to postpone lus return thl the 15th.

» It will be remembered that Brown was in the habit of letting
his house in Wentworth Place, where he and Keats domesticated
together, and that he generally arranged to go off on country trips
/luring those terms for which the house was thus profitably

employed.

3 The matter of Miss Cox was probably still fresh in his recollec-

tion. See Letter 89, p. 252.

436

iSig Letter 147

is the most sensiblcj and even wise Man I know — he has
a few John Bull prejudices; but they improve him. His
illness is at times alarming. We are great friends, and
there is no one I like to pass a day with better. Martin
call’d in to bid him good bye before he set out for
Dublin. If you would like to hear one of his jokes here
is one which at the time we laugh’d at a good deal. A

Miss with three young Ladies, one of them Martin’s

sister had come a gadding in the Isle of wight and took
for a few days a Cottage opposite ours — ^we dined with
them one day, and as I was saying they had fish.

Miss said she thought they tasted of the boat. No says

Martin very seriously they haven’t been kept long
enough. I saw Haslam he is very much occupied with
love and business being one of Saunders executors
and Lover to a young woman. He show’d me her
Picture by Severn. I think she is, though not very
cunning, too cunning for him. Nothing strikes me so
forcibly with a sense of the ridiculous as love.^ A Man
in love I do think cuts the sorryest figure in the world.
Even when I know a poor fool to be really in pain
about it, I could burst out laughing in his face. His
pathetic visage becomes irrisistable Not that

I take Haslam as a pattern for Lovers — he is a very
worthy man and a good friend. His love is very amusing.
Somewhere in the Spectator is related an account of
a Man inviting a party of stutter [er]s and squinters to his
table. It would please me more to scrape together a
party of Lovers, not to dinner — no to tea. The[re]
would be no fighting as among KLnights of old.

Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.

Nibble their to[a]st, and cool their tea with sighs,

Or else forget die purpose of the night

Forget their tea — ^forget their appetite.

See with cross’d arms they sit — ah hapless crew

^ Cf. Letter 125, p. 382.

n

437

n

September

Letter 147

The fire is going out, and no one rings
For coals, and therefore no coals betty brings.

A Fly is in the milk pot— must he die
Circled by a humane society?

No no there m’' Werter' takes his spoon
Inverts it— dips the handle and lo soon
The little straggler sav’d from perils dark
Across the teaboard draws a long wet mark.

Romeo! Arise! take snuffers by the handle
There ’s a large Cauliflower in each candle.

A winding-sheet— Ah me! I must away
To no 7 just beyond the Circus gay.

‘Alas! my friend! your Coat sits very well:

Where may your Taylor live?’ T may not tell—

0 pardon me— I’m absent: now and then.’

Where might my Taylor five? — I say again

1 cannot tell — ^let me no more be teas’d —

He lives in wapping might live where he pleas’d.

You see I cannot get on without writing as boys do at
school a few nonsense verses. I begin them and before
I have written six the whim has pass’d— if there is any
thing deserving so respectable a name in them. I shall
put in a bit of information any where just as it strikes
me. M” Abbey is to write to me as soon as he can bring
matters to bear and then I am to go to Town to tell him
the means of forwarding to you through Capper and
Hazlewood. I wonder I did not put this before. I shall
go on to-morrow — ^it is so fine now I must take a bit of
a walk.

Saturday [i8 September 1819].— With my incoratant
disposition it is no wonder that this morning, amid all
our bad times and misfortunes, I should feel so alert
and weU spirited. At this moment you are perhaps in
a very different state of Mind. It is because my hopes
are very [for ever] paramoimt to my despair. I have been
reading over a part of a short poem I have composed

^ Goethe’s ‘Sorrows of Werthcr’ (i774)-

438

iSig Letter 147

lately call’d ‘Lamia’ — and I am certain there is that
sort of fire in it which must take hold of people in some
way — give them either pleasant or unpleasant sensation.
What they want is a sensation of some sort. I wish
I could pitch the Key of your spirits as high as mine is —
but your organ loft is beyond the reach of my voice.
I admire the exact admeasurement of my niece in your
Mother’s letter— O the little span-long elf. I am not
in the least [a] judge of the proper weight and size of an
infant. Never trouble yourselves about that: she is sure
to be a fine woman. Let her have only delicate nails
both on hands and feet and both as small as a May-fly’s,
who will live you his life on a 3 square inch of oak-leaf.
And nails she must have quite different from the market
women here who plough into the butter and make a
quarter pound taste of it. I intend to write a letter to
you[r] Wifie and there I may say more on this little
plump subject— I hope she's plump. ‘Still harping on
my daughter’^ This Winchester is a place tolerably
well suited to me: there is a fine Cathedral, a College,
a Roman-Catholic Chapel, a Methodist do, an inde-
pendent do, — and there is not one loom or any thing
like manufacturing beyond bread & butter in the
whole City. There are a number of rich Catholic [s] in
the place. It is a respectable, ancient, aristocratical
place — and moreover it contains a nunnery. Our set
are by no means so hail fellow, well met, on literary
subjects as we were wont to be. Reynolds has turn’d to
the law. By the bye, he brought out a little piece at the
Lyceum c^’d one^ two, three^four^ by advertisemenU^ It

^ ‘Hamlet/ n. ii. 190. ^

* The title of the piece in question is ‘One, Two, Three, Four,
Five: By Advertisement, a Musical Entertainment in one Act.’ It
held the stage firmly enough to be included in Cumberland’s
‘British Theatre’, where it is stated that the play was written for
John Reeve, and brought out at the English Opera, with him in
the principal part, on the i7thofJuly 1819. The follow^g abstract
of the fable is added: — ‘Mr Coupleton wishing to retire from the
bustle and turmoil of a city life, and enjoy the country and spring-

439 L2

Letter 147 September

met with complete success. The meaning of this odd
title is explained when I tell you the principal actor is
a mimic who takes off four of our best performers in
the course of the farce. Our stage is loaded with mimics.
I did not see the Piece being out of Town the whole
time it was in progress. Dilke is entirely swallowed up
in his boy: ’tis really lamentable to what a pitch he
carries a sort of parental mania. I had a Letter from
him at Shanklin. He went on a word or two about the
isle of Wight which is a bit of [a] hobby horse of his;
but he soon deviated to his boy. T am sitting’ says he
‘at the window expecting my Boy from School.’ I
suppose I told you somewhere that he lives in West-
minster, and his boy goes to the School there, where he
gets beaten, and every bruise he has and I dare say
deserves is very bitter to Dilke. The Place I am speaking
of puts me in mind of a circumsta[n]ce [which]
occur[r]ed lately at Dilkes. I think it very rich and
dramatic and quite illustrative of the little quiet fun
that he will enjoy sometimes. First I must tell you their
house is at the comer of Great Smith Street, so that
some of the windows look into one Street, and the back
windows into another round the comer. Dilke had
some old people to dinner, I know not who — ^but there
were two old ladies among them. Brown was there —
they had known him from a Child. Brown is very

tide, solus cum sola with his lovely May,” advertises for a husband
for his daughter; a young lady of a thousand in point of mental
accomplishments, and of ten thousand in a pecuniary sense. Miss
Sophy, however, anticipating her papa, has secured to herself
a lover, in the person of Harry Alias, a theatrical amateur. To
punish the match-maker for his indecorous mode of proceeding
in an affair of so much delicacy, and promote his own views,
Mr Alias resolves to answer the advertisement, by waiting upon
Old Goupleton in a variety of characters; and Sir Peter Teazle,
Dr Endall, Sam Dabbs, and Buskin, appear successively before
him, in the persons of “Farren,” “Harley,” “Munden,” and
“Mathews,” all of whom were aped with wonderful fidelity. In
Buskin, Mr Reeve also introduced imitations of “John Kemble,”
“Kean,” and “Liston”.’

440

i 8 ig Letter 147

pleasant with old w^omen, and on that day, it seems,
behaved himself so winningly they [for that] they became
hand and glove together and a little complimentary.
Brown was obhged to depart early. He bid them good
bye and pass’d into the passage — no sooner was his
back turn’d than the old women began lauding him.
When Brown had reach’d the street door and w^as just
going, Dilke threw up the Window and call’d: "Brown!
Brown 1 They say you look younger than ever you did !’
Brown went on and had just turn’d the comer into the
other street when Dilke appeared at the back window
crying "Browm! Brown! By God, they say you’re hand-
some!’ You see what a many words it requires to give
any identity to a thing I could have told you in half
a minute. I have been reading lately Burton’s Anatomy
of Melancholy; and I think you will be very much
amused with a page I here coppy for you. I call it a
Feu de joie round the batteries of Fort Hyphen-de-
Phrase on the birthday of the Digamma. The whole
alphabet was drawn up in a Phalanx on the comer of
an old Dictionar}^ Band placing "Amo, Amas, &c.’

"Every Lover admires his Mistress, though she be
"very deformed of herself, ill-favored, wninkled, pimpled,
"pale, red, yellow, tann’d, tallow-fac’d, have a swoln
"juglers platter face, or a thin, lean, chitty face, have
"clouds in her face, be crooked, dry, bald, goggle-eyed,
"blear-eyed or with staring eyes, she looks like a squis’d
"cat, hold her head still awry, heavy, dull, hollow-eyed,
"black or yellow about the eyes, or squint-eyed, sparrow-
"mouth’d, Persean hook-nosed, have a sharp fox nose,
"a red nose, China flat, great nose, nare simo patuloque,
"a nose like a promontory, gubber-tush’d, rotten teeth,
"black, uneven, brown teeth, beetle-brow’d, a witches
"beard, her breath stink all over the room, her nose drop
"winter and summer, with a Bavarian poke under her
"chin, a sharp chin, lave-eared, with a long crane’s neck,
"which stands awry too, pendiilis mammis, her dugs like
"two double jugs, or else no dugs in the other extream,

441

Letter 147 September

‘bloody falln fingers, she have filthy, long, unpaired
‘nails, scabbed hands or wrists, a tan’d skin, a rotton
‘carcass, crooked back, she stoops, is lame, splea footed
‘as slender in the middle as a cow in the wast, gowty
‘legs, her ankles hang over her shooes, her feet stink
‘she breed lice, a meer changeling, a very monster, aii
‘aufe imperfect, her whole complexion savors, an harsh
‘voice, incondite gesture, vile gate, a vast virago, or an
‘ugly tit, a slug, a fat fuslilugs, a trusse, a long lean raw-
‘bone, a skeleton, a sneaker (si qua latent' meliora puta)
‘and to thy judgement looks like a mard in a Lanthom
‘whom thou couldst not fancy for a world, but hatest^
‘loathest, and wouldst have spit in her face, or blow thy
‘nose in her bosom, remedium amoris to another
‘a dowdy, a slut, a scold, a nasty rank, rammy, filthy’
‘beastly quean, dishonest peradventure, obscene, base’
‘beggarly, rude, foolish, untaught, peevish, Irus’
‘daughter, Thersites’ sister, Grobian’s scholler; if he love
‘her once, he admires her for all this, he takes no notice
‘of any such errors or imperfections of boddy or mind.’
There ’s a dose for you — ^fine! ! I would give my
favourite leg to have written this as a speech in a Play:
with what effect could Matthews pop-gun it at the pit !
This I think will amuse you more than so much Poetry.
Of that I do not like to copy any as I am affraid it is
too mal apropo[s] for you at present— and yet I will
send you some — ^for by the time you receive it things in
England may have taken a different turn. When I left
M"" Abbey on monday evening I walk’d up Cheapside
but returned to put some letters in the Post and met him
again in Bucklersbury: we walk’d together th[r]ough the
Poultry as far as the hatter’s shop he has some concern
in. He spoke of it in such a way to me, I though[t] he
wanted me to make an offer to assist him in it. I do
believe if I could be a hatter I might be one. He seems
armous about me. He began blowing up Lord Byron
while I w as sitting with him, however says he the

' Keats wrote patent instead of latent.

442

i8ig Letter 147

fellow says true things now & then; at which he took
up a Magazine and read me some extracts from Don
Juan, (Lord Byron’s last flash poem) and particularly
one against literary ambition. I do think I must be
well spoken of among sets, for Hodgkinson is more than
polite, and the coffee-german^ endeavour’d to be very
close to me the other night at covent garden where
I went at half-price before I tumbled into bed. Every
one however distant an acquaintance behaves in the
most conciliating manner to me. You will see I speak
of this as a matter of interest. On the next sheet I will
give you a little politics. In every age there has been in
England for some two or three centuries subjects of
great popular interest on the carpet: so that however
great the uproar one can scarcely prophesy any material
change in the government, for as loud disturbances have
agitated this country many times. All civil[iz]ed
countries become gradually more enlighten’d and
there should be a continual change for the better. Look
at this Country at present and remember it when it was
even though[t] impious to doubt the justice of a trial by
Combat. From that time there has been a gradual change.
Three great changes have been in progress — ^Firstfor the
better, next for the worse, and a third time for the better
once more. The first was the gradual annihilation of
the tyranny of the nobles, when Kings found it their
interest to conciliate the common people, elevate them
and be just to them. Just when baronial Power ceased
and before standing armies were so dangerous. Taxes
were few. Kings were lifted by the people over the heads
of their nobles, and those people held a rod over Kings.
The change for the worse in Europe was again this.
The obligation of Kings to the Multitude be^an to be
forgotten. Custom had made noblemen the humble
servants of Kings. Then Kings turned to the Nobles as
the adomers of Sieir power, the slaves of it, and from the

^ Perhaps some one in the employ of Abbey, tea and coffee
dealer.

443

Letter 147 September

people as creatures continually endeavouring to check
them. Then in every Kingdom there was a long
struggle of Kings to destroy all popular privileges. The
english were the only people in europe who made a
grand kick at this. They were slaves to Henry S*** but
were freemen under William at the time the french
were abject slaves under Lewis 14^’*- The example of
England, and the liberal writers of ffance and england
sowed the seed of opposition to this Tyranny — and it was
swelling in the ground till it burst out in the french
revolution. That has had an unlucky termination. It
put a stop to the rapid progress of free sentiments in
England; and gave our Court hopes of turning back to
the despotism of the 16 century- They have made a
handle of this event in every way to undermine our
freedom. They spread a horrid superstition against all
in[n] ovation and improvement. The present struggle
in England of the people is to destroy this superstition.
What has rous’d them to do it is their distresses. Per-
haps on this accotmt the present distresses of this nation
are a fortunate thing — ^tho so horrid in their experience.
You will see I mean that the french Revolution but
[for put] a tempor[ar]y stop to this third change, the
change for the better — Now it is in progress again and
I thing in [for think it] an effectual one. This is no contest
between whig and tory — ^but between right and wrong.
There is scarcely a grain of party spirit now in England.
Right and Wrong considered by each man abstractedly
is the fashion. I know very little of these things. I am
convinced however that apparently small causes make
great alterations. There are little signs wher [e]by we may
know how matters are going on. This mates the
business about Carlisle^ the Bookseller of great moment
in my mmd. He has been selling deistical pamphlets,
republished Tom Payne^ and many other works held in
superstitious horror. He even has been selling for some
time immense numbers of a work called ‘The Deist’

^ See Letter 114, p. 321. * Thomas Paine (1737-1809).

444

^^^9 Letter 147

which comes out in weekly numbers. For this Conduct
he I think has had above a dozen inditements issued
against him; for which he has found Bail to the amount
of many thousand Pounds. After all they are affraid to
prosecute: they are affraid of his defence: it would be
published in all the papers all over the Empire: they
shudder at this: the Trials would light a flame they
could not extinguish. Do you not think this of great
import? You will hear by the papers of the proceedings
at Manchester and Hunt's triumphal entry into
London.^ I[t] would take me a whole day and a quire
of paper to give you any thing like detail. I will merely
mention that it is calculated that 30,000 people were in
the streets waiting for him. The whole distance from
the Angel Islington to the Grown and Anchor was lined
with Multitudes. As I pass'd Colnaghi's window I saw
a profil[e] Portrait of Sandt^ the destroyer of Kotzebue.
His vtry look must interest every one in his favour.
I suppose they have represented him in his college dress.
He seems to me like a young Abelard — a fine Mouth,
cheek bones (and this is no joke) full of sentiment; a fine
unvulgar nose and plump temples. On looking over
some Letters I found the one I wrote intended for you
from the foot of Helvellyn to Liverpool — but you had
sail’d and therefore it was returned to me. It contained
among other nonsense an Acrostic of my Sister’s name
— and a pretty long name it is. I wrote it in a great
hurry which you will see. Indeed I would not copy it

* The mention of Henry Hunt’s entry into London has been
adduced as an anachronism in evidence against the genuineness of
this letter. It is true that the ‘Orator’ of Manchester Massacre fame
ended an imprisonment of tw^o years and a half on the 30th of
October 1822 and made an ‘entry into London’ on Ihe nth of
November 1822; but the trial of which his imprisonment was the
issue had not t^en place till the spring of 1820; and the entry
alluded to by Keats was made between the Massacre and the trial.
Garlile, in ‘The Republican’, speaks of 300,000 people as taking
part in the demonstration.

2 See Letter 1 14, p. 346.

445

Letter 147 September

if I thought it would ever be seen by any but your-
selves —

Give me your patience Sister while I frame
Exact in Capitals your golden name:

Or sue the fair apollo and he will

Rouse from his heavy slumber and instill

Great love in me for thee and Poesy

Imagine not that greatest mastery

And Kingdom over all the Realms of verse

Nears more to Heaven in aught than when we nurse

And surety give to love and Brotherhood.

Anthropop[h]agi in Othel[l]o’s mood;

Ulysses stormed, and his enchanted belt
Glow[ed] with the Muse, but they are never felt
Unbosom’d so and so eternal made,

Such tender insence in their Laurel shade,

To all the regent sisters of the Nine,

As this poor offering to you sister mine.

Kind Sister! aye, this third name says you are;
Enchanted has it been the Lord knows where.

And may it taste to you like good old wine
Take you to real happiness and give
Sons daughters and a home like honied hive.

Foot of Helvellyn June 27 —

I sent you in my first Packet some of my scotch
Letters. I find I have one kept back which was written
in the most interesting part of our Tour, and will copy
parts of it in the hope you will not find it unamusing.
I would give now any thing for Richardson’s power of
making mountains of mole hills. Incipit Epistola Caledonia
ensa^ DuftancuUen* — I did not know the day of the
month for I find I have not dated it — ^Brown must have
been asleep. J’ust after my last had gone to the post’
(before I go any further I must premise that I would

^ See Letter 76, p. 1215.

446

i 8 ig Letter 147

send the identical Letter inste[a]d of taking the trouble
to copy it: I do not do so for it would spoil my nodon
of the neat manner in which I intend to fold these thin
genteel sheets.^ The original is written on coarse paper
— and the soft ones would ride in the Post-bag very
uneasy; perhaps there might be a quarrel) “Just after
'my last had gone to the post, in came one of the Men
'with whom we endeavoured to agree about going to
'Staffa: He said what a pity it was we should turn aside
'and not see the curiosities. So we had a little talk and
'finally agreed that he should be our guide across the
'isle of Mull. We set out, cross’d two ferries, one to the
'isle of Kerrara of a short distance; the other from
'Kerrara to Mull 9 miles across. We did it in forty
'minutes with a fine breeze. The road, or rather the
'track through the Island is the most dreary you can
'think of; between dreary mountains; over bog and
'rock and river with our trowsers^ tucked up and our
'stockings in hand. About eight o’Clock we arrived at
'a Shepherd’s hut, into which we could scarcely get for
'the smoke through a door lower than my shoulders.
'We found our way into a little compartment, with the
'rafters and turf thatch blackened with Smoke — the
'earth floor full of hills and dales. We had some white
'bread with us, made a good supper and slept in our
'Clothes in some Blankets: our guide snored on another
'little bed about an arm’s length off. This next morning
'we have come about six^ ^Cles to breakfast by rather
'a better path, and are now, by comparison, in a Man-
'sion. Our Guide is a very obliging fellow. In our way
'this morning he sang us two gaeHc songs — one made
'by a M^® Brown on her husbands being drown’d; the
'other a jacobin one on Charles Stuart. For ^me days
'brown has been enquiring out his genealogy here.
'He thinks his Grandfather came from long island. He

^ Cf. Letter 89, pp. 258.

® ‘Breeches’ to Tom Keats, ‘trowsers’ to Georgiana ! (See p. 456,
11 . 4, 5 from foot.) ^ ‘Sax’ to Tom, but the joke has worn off.

447

Letter 147 September

‘got a parcel of People at a Cottage door about him last
‘evening: chatted with one^ who had been a miss brown
‘and who I think by the family likeness must have been
‘a Relation. He talk’d^ with the old woman pretty
‘briskly, flattered a young one, kiss’d a child who was
‘afraid of his Spectacles “Scar’d at the silver rim and
‘ “oval glass” 3 — and finally drank a pint of Milk. They
‘handled his spectacles as we do a sensitive leaf. July 26.
‘[1818] We had a most wretched walk across the island
‘of Mull and then we cross’d to Iona, or Icolmkil: from
‘Icolmkil we took a boat at a Bargain to take us to Staffa,
‘and after land us at the head of Loch Nakgal [na Keal],
‘whence we should only have to walk half the distance
‘to Oban again and by a better road. All this is well
‘pass’d and done with this singular piece of Luck, that
‘there took place an intermission in the bad Weather
‘just as we came in sight of Staffa, on which it is im-
‘possible to land but in a tolerably calm sea. But I will
‘first mention Icolmkil. I know not whether you have
‘heard much about this island; I never did before I was
‘close to it. It is rich in the most interesting Antiquities.
‘Who would expect to find the ruins of a fine Cathedral
‘church; of Cloisters Colleges — ^Monastaries and nun-
‘neries in so remote an island? The beginning of these
‘things was in the sixth Century under the Chaperonage^
‘of a^ Bishop-saint who landed from Ireland choosing
‘this spot for its beauty; for at that time the now treeless
‘place was covered with magnificent woods. His name
‘was St. Columba — Now this saint Columba became
‘the Dominic of the barbarian Christians of the North,
‘and was fam’d also far South; but more especially was
‘reverenced by the Scots, the Piets, the Norwegians and
‘the Irish, In a course of years the island became to be
‘considered the most holy ground of the North, and the

^ ‘ane’ to Tom. ^ ‘jawed’ to Tom.

3 The quotation, the souce of which I have failed to trace, was
not in the letter to Tom. —

^ ‘superstition’ to Tom.

448

^ ‘would-be’ to Tom.

i 8 ig Letter 147

^ancient Kings of the forementioned nations chose it
Tor their burial Place. We were show[n] a spot in the
Churchyard where they say 61 Kings are buried, 48
‘Scotch from Fergus 2"^"^ to Mackbeth, 8 irish, 2^ Nor-
‘wegian, and i french. They lie in rows compact. Then
‘we were shown other matters of later date but still very
‘ancient. Many tombs of Highland Chieftains, there
‘[^zV] effigies in complete armour face upwards — b[l]ack
‘marble half covered with moss. There is in the ruins of
‘the Church a Bishop on his monument as you see them
‘in our cathedrals — as fine as any one I remember^ —
‘Abbots and Bishops of the islands always from one of
‘the chief clans. There were plenty of Macleans and
‘Macdonnels, among these latter the famous Macdonnel
‘Lord of the Isles. There have been 300 crosses in the
‘island: the Presbyterians destroyed aU but two, one of
‘which is a very fine one and entirely covered with a
‘very deep coarse moss. The old Schoolmaster an
‘ignorant little man, but reckoned very clever, showed
‘us these things. He is a Maclean and is as much above
‘4 foot as he is under 4 foot, three — He stops at one
‘glass of W[h]iskey unless you press a second, and at the
‘second unless you press a third. I am puzzled how to
‘give you an Idea of Staffa. It can only be represented
‘by a first rate drawing. One may compare the surface
‘of the island to a roof— the roof is supported by grand
‘pillars of Basalt standing together as thick as honey
‘combs. The finest thing is Fingal’s cave: it is entirely
‘a breaking away of basalt pillars. Suppose now the
‘Giants, who came down to the daughters of Men^, had
‘taken a whole mass of these Columns and bound them
‘together like Bunches of Matches; and then with
‘immense axes had made a Cavern in the body of these
‘Columns. Such is fingal’s cave except that thb Sea has

^ ‘4’ in Letter 76, and required to make up the 61,

® This monument is not mentioned in the letter to Tom.

3 Genesis, vi, 2-4. In Letter 76 Keats wrote ‘Giants who rebelled
against Jove’, suggesting ‘Hyperion’.

449

Letter 147 September

‘done this work of excavation and is continually dashing
‘there. So that we walk along the sides of the Cave on
‘the heads of the shortest pillars which are left as for
‘convenient stairs. The roof is arch’d somewhat gothic
‘wise, and the length of some of the entire pillars is 50
‘feet. About the island you might seat an army of men
‘one man on the extremity of each pillar snapped off
‘at different heights. The length of the Cave is 120 feet,
‘and from its extremity the View of the Sea through the
‘large Arch at the Entrance is very grand.' The colour of
‘the columns is a sort of black with a lurking gloom of
‘pmple therein. For solemnity and grandeur it far sur-
‘passes the finest Cathedral. Aswe approachedin theBoat
‘there was such a fine swell of the sea that the columns
‘seem’d rising immediately out of the waves — ^it is im-
‘possible to describe it (I find I must keep memorandums
‘of the verses I send you for I do not remember whether
‘Ihavesentthefollowinglinesupon Staffa). Ihopenot’t
‘would be a horrid balk to you, especially after reading
‘this dull specimen of description. For myself I hate de-
‘scriptions. I would not send if [for it] were it not mine.

Incipit Poema Lyrica de Staffa tractans.

Not Alad[d]in magian
Ever such a work began;

Not the wizard of the Dee
Ever such a dream could see;

Not s‘- John in Patmos isle,

In the Passion of his toiP
Gaz’d on such a rugged wonder !

As I stood its roofing under
Lo ! I saw one sleeping there
On the marble cold and bare.

While the surges washed his feet
And his garments white did beat,

’ The last three words of this sentence do not appear in Letter 76.

* LI. 7-8 of the version in Letter 76 were omitted by Keats in
this letter.

450

Letter 147

181Q

Drench’d, about the sombre rocks.

On his neck his well-grown locks.

Lifted hig h- dry above the main
Were upon the curl again.

‘What is this? And who art thou?’

Whisper’d I and to[u]ch’d his brow.

‘What art thou and what is this?’

Whisper’d I and strove to kiss
The spirit’s hand to wake his eyes.

Up he started in a thrice.

T am Lycidas’ said he
‘Fam’d in funeral Minstrelsey
This was architected thus
By the great Oceanus:

He [re] his mighty waters play
Hollow organs all the day;

Here by turns his Dolphins all
Finny Palmers, great and small
Come to pay devotion due, —

Each a Mouth of pearls must strew.

Many Mortals of these days
Dare to pass our sacred ways,

Dare to see audaciously
This Cathedral of the Sea.

I have been the Pontif Priest
Where the waters never rest,

Where a fledgy sea-bird quire
Soars for ever; holy fire
Have I hid from mortal Man;

Proteus is my Sacristan — ^

I ought to make a large here: but I had better take
the opportunity of telling you I have got rid of my
haimting sore throat — and conduct myself in a manner
not to catch another.

^ There are 13 more lines in the letter to Tom.

* i.e. Query, suggesting some doubts as to the riddance of his
sore throat.

451

Letter 147 September

You speak of Lord Byron and me — There is this
great difference between us. He describes what he
sees — I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest
task. You see the immense difference. The Edinburgh
review are aflfraid to touch upon my Poem. They do
not know what to make of it — they do not like to
condemn it and they will not praise it for fear — They
are as shy of it as I should be of wearing a Quaker’s hat.
The fact is they have no real taste — they dare not com-
promise their Judgements on so puzzling a Question. If
on my next Publication they should praise me and so
lug in Endymion' I will address [them] in a manner
they will not at all relish. The Cowardliness of the
Edinburgh is worse than the abuse of the Quarterly.
Monday [20 September 1819]. — This day is a grand
day for winchester — they elect the Mayor. It was
indeed high time the place should have some sort of
excitement. There was nothing going on — all asleep.
Not an old Maid’s Sedan returning from a card party —
and if any old women have got tipsy at christenings
they have not exposed themselves in the Street. The
first night tho’ of our arrival here there was a slight
uproar took place at about ten of the clock. We heard
distinctly a noise patting down the high street as of a
walking cane of the good old dowager breed; and a
little minute after we heard a less voice observe, ‘What
a noise the ferril made — it must be loose.’ Brown
wanted to call the Constables, but I observed ’t was
only a little breeze and would soon pass over. The side-
streets here are excessively maiden lady like. The door
steps always fresh from the flannel. The Knockers have,
a very staid, ser [i] ous, nay almost awful qui [e] tness about
them. I never saw so quiet a collection of Lions and
rams heads — ^The doors most part black with a little
brass handle just above the key hole — so that you may
easily shut yourself out of your own house — he! he!

’ Actually Jeffrey did write of Endyraion and the Lamia volume
in the ‘Edinburgh Review’, Augxist 1820.

452

j 8 ig Letter 147

There is none of your Lady Bellaston^ rapping and ring-
ing here — no thundering-Jupiter footmen, no opera-
treble-tattoos — but a modest lifting up of the knocker
by a set of little wee old fingers that peep through the
grey mittens, and a dying fall- thereof. The great beauty
of Poetry is, that it makes every thing every place
interesting — The palatine Venice and the abbotine
Winchester are equally interesting. Some time since I
began a Poem call’d 'The Eve of Mark’ quite in the
spirit of Town quietude. I think it will give you the sensa-
tion of walking about an old county Town in a coolish
evening. I know not yet whether I shall ever finish it —
I will give it [as] far as I have gone. Ut tibi placeat!

Upon a Sabbath day it fell;

Thrice holy was the sabbath bell
That call’d the folk to evening prayer.

The City streets were clean and fair
From wholesome drench of April rains,

And on the w^estem window pains
The chilly sunset faintly told
Of unmatur’d, green vallies cold,

Of the green, thorny, bloomless hedge,

Of Rivers new with spring tide sedge,

Of Primroses by shelter’d rills,

And Da[i]sies on the aguish hills.

Thrice holy was the sabbath bell:

The silent streets were crowded well
With staid and pious companies
Warm from their fireside oratries.

And moving with demurest air
To even song and vesper prayer.

Each arched porch and entry low
Was fill’d with patient crowd and slow.

With whispers hush, and shuffling feet
While play’d the organ loud and sweet.

^ A profligate character in Tom Jones’.

2 ‘Twelfth Night’, i, i, 4.

n

453

M

Letter 147 September

The Bells had ceas’d, the Prayers begun,

And Bertha had not yet half done
A curious volume, patch’d and torn,

That all day long, from earliest morn,

Had taken captive her fair eyes.

Among its golden broideries: —

Perplex’d her with a thousand things —

The Stars of heaven, and Angels’ wings;

Martyrs in a fiery blaze;

Azure Saints ’mid silver rays;

A[a]ron’s^ breastplate, and the seven
Candlesticks John saw in heaven;^

The winged Lion of Saint Mark,

And the Covenantal Arck
With its many Misteries
Cherubim and golden Mice.

Bertha was a Maiden fair,

Dwelling in the old Minster square;

From her fireside she could see
Sidelong its rich antiquity,

Far as Ae Bishop’s garden wall.

Where Sycamores and elm trees tall
Full leav’d the forest had outstript.

By no sharp north wind ever nipt,

So sheltered by the mighty pile.

Bertha arose, and read awhile
With forehead ’gainst the window pane, —

Again she tried, and then again.

Until the dusk eve left her dark
Upon the Legend of St. Mark.

^ Hitherto ‘Moses’ in all editions and so in the holograph in the
Keats Manuscript Book in the British Museum.

^ The two lines omitted near the beginning of the Staffa poem
were:

When he saw the churches seven
Golden aisled built up in heaven.

Perhaps Keats thought he was overworking these rhymes in
connexion with St. John in Patmos.

454

From pleated lawn-frill fine and thin
She lifted up her soft warm chin
With aching neck and swimming eyes.

All daz’d with saintly imageries.

All was gloom, and silent all.

Save now and then the still footfall
Of one returning homeward late
Past the echoing minster gate.

The clamourous daws that all the day
Above tree tops and towers play,

Pair by Pair had gone to rest.

Each in their ancient belfry nest
Where asleep they fall betimes
To music of the drowsy chimes.

All was silent, all was gloom
Abroad and in the homely room; —

Down she sat, poor cheated soul,

And struck a swart Lamp from the coal.
Leaned forward with bright drooping hair
And slant book full against the glare.

Her shadow, in uneasy guise,

Hover’d about, a giant size.

On ceiling, beam, and old oak chair.

The Parrot’s cage and parmel square.

And the warm-angled winter serene.

On which were many monsters seen,
Gall’d, Doves of Siam, Lima Mice,

And legless birds of Paradise,

Macaw, and tender Av’davat,

And silken-furr’d Angora Gat.

Untir’d she read — ^her shadow still
Glower’d about as it would fill
The room with g[h]astly forms and shades-
As though some ghostly Queen of Spades
Had come to mock behind her back,

And dance, and ruffle her garments black.

455

September

Letter 147

Untir’d she read the Legend page
Of holy Mark from youth to age,

On Land, on Sea, in pagan-chains,

Rejoicing for his many pains.

Sometimes the learned Eremite
With golden star, or daggar bright,

Refer'd to pious poesies
Written in smallest crow quill size
Beneath the text and thus the rhyme
Was parceird out from time to time:

What follows is an imitation of the Authors in
Chaucer’s time — ’tis more ancient than Chaucer him-
self and perhaps between him and Gower.

Als writeth he of swevenis

Men han beforne they waken in blis,

When that hir friendes thinke hem bounde
In crimpide shroude faire, under grounde:

And how a litling childe mote be
A Scainte er its natavitie.

Gif that the modre (Gode her blesse)

Kepen in Solitarinesse,

And kissen devoute the holy croce.

Of Goddis love and Sathan’s force
He writithe; and things many moe.

Of swiche thinges I may not show,

Bot I must tellen verilie
Somedele of Sainte Cicilie,

And chieflie what he auctoreth
Of Sainte Markis life and dethe.

I hope you will like this for all its Carelessness. I
must take an opportunity here to observe that though
I am writing to you I am all the while writing at your
Wife.^ This explanation will account for my speaking
sometimes hoity-toityishly. Whereas if you were alone
I should sport a little more sober sadness. I am like
a squinty gentleman who saying soft things to one Lady

^ See Letter 143, p. 424.

456

I Big Letter 147

ogles another — or what is as bad in arguing with a
person on his left hand appeals with his eyes to one one
[i'fr] the right. His Vision is elastic he bends it to a certain
object but having a patent spring it flies off. Writing
has this disadvan[ta]ge of speaking — one cannot write
a wink, or a nod, or a grin, or a purse of the Lips, or
a smile — 0 law! One can[not] put one’s finger to one’s
nose, or yerk ye in the ribs, or lay hold of your button
in writing — but in all the most lively and titterly parts
of my Letter you must not fail to imagine me as the
epic poets say — now here, now there, now with one
foot pointed at the ceiling, now with another — now
with my pen on my ear, now with my elbow in my
mouth. O my friends you loose the action — and atti-
tude is every thing as Fusili* said when he took up his
leg like a Musket to shoot a Swallow just darting behind
his shoulder. And yet does not the word mum ! go for
one’s finger beside the nose. I hope it does. I have to
make use of the word Mum! before I tell you that
Severn has got a little Baby — all his own let us hope.
He told Brown he had given up painting and had
turn’d modeller. I hope sincerely ’tis not a party con-
cern: that no M^ or is the real Pinxit and

Severn the poor Sculpsit to this work of art. You know
he has long studied in the Life-Academy. Haydon —
yes your wife will say, 'here is a sum total account of
Haydon again I wonder your Brother don’t put a
monthly buUeteen in the Philadelphia Papers about
him^ — I won’t hear — no — skip down to the bottom — aye
and there are some more of his verses, skip (luUaby-by)
them too’ 'No, lets go regularly through.’ 'I wont
hear a word about Haydon — ^bless tlie child, how rioty
she is 1 — there go on there.’ Now pray go on here for
I have a few words to say about Haydon. Before this
Chancery threat had cut of[f] every legitimate supp[l]y
of Cash from me I had a httle at my disposal: Haydon
being very much in want I lent him 30 ^ of it. Now in

^ Henry Fuseli (1741-1825). * See Letter 161, p, 490.

457

Letter 147 September

this se[e]-saw game of Life I got nearest to the ground
and this chancery business rivetted me there so that I
was sitting in that uneasy position where the seat slants
so abominably. I applied to him for payment— he could
not — that was no wonder; but goodman Delver/ where
was the wonder then, why marry, in this, he did not
seem to care much about it— and let me go without my
money with almost non-chalance when he ought to
have sold his drawings to supply me.* I shall perhaps
still be acquainted with him, but for friendship that is
at an end. Brown has been my friend in this— he got
him to sign a Bond* payable at three Months. Haslam
has assisted me with the return of part of the money you
lent him. Hunt— ‘there,* says your wife, ‘there’s
another of those dull folkes— not a syllable about my
friends— well— Hunt— what about Hunt pray— you
little thin; see how she bites my finger— my! is not this
a tooth— Well, when you have done with the tooth
read on. Not a syllable about your friends 1 Here are
some syllables. As far as I could smoke things on the
Sunday before last, thus matters stood in Henrietta
street. Henry was a greater blade than ever I remem-
ber to have seen him. He had on a very nice coat, a
becoming waistcoat and buff trowsers. I think his face
has lost a little of the spanish-brown, but no flesh. He
carv’d some beef exactly to suit my appetite, as if I
had been measured for it. As I stood looking out of
the window with Charles after dinner, quizzing the
Passengers, at which, I am sorry to say he is too apt,
I observed that his young, son of a gun’s whiskers had
begun to curl and curl — ^little twists and twists, all down
the sides of his face getting properly thickish on the
angles of the visage. He certainly will have a notable

^ ‘Hamlet’, v, i, 14.

* But contrast the antepenultimate sentence of Letter 96, nine
months earlier, when Haydon was pressed for money and Keats
thought himself in a position to help him.

3 See note to Letter 100 and last sentence of Letter 102.

458

^Sig Letter 147

pair of Whiskers. ‘How shiny your gown is in front’
says Charles ‘Why, don’t you see ’tis an apron’ says
Henry. Whereat I scrutiniz’d and behold your mother
had a purple stuff gown on, and over it an apron of the
same colour, being the same cloth that was used for the
lining — and furthermore to account for the shining it
was the first day of wearing. I guess’d as much of the
Gown — but that is entre-nous. Charles likes england
better than france. They’ve got a fat, smiling, fair
Cook as ever you saw — she is a little lame, but that
improves her — ^it makes her go more swimmingly.
When I ask’d Ts Wylie within’ she gave such a
large, five-and-thirty-year-old smile, it made me look
round upon the fo[u]rth stair — it might have been the
fifth — but that’s a puzzle. I shall never be able if I were
to set myself a recollecting for a year, to recollect that —
I think I remember two or three specks in her teeth but
I really can’t say exactly. Your mother said something
about Miss Keasle — ^w^hat that was is quite a riddle to
me now. Whether she had got fatter or thinner, or
broader or longer — straiter, or had taken to the zigzags
— ^Whether she had taken to, or left off, asses Milk
— that by the by she ought never to touch — how much
better it would be to put her out to nurse with the Wise
woman of Brentford. I can say no more on so spare a
subject. Miss Millar now is a different morsell if one
knew how to divide and subdivide, theme her out into
sections and subsections.^ Say alittle on every part of her
body as it is divided in common with all her fellow
creatures, in Moor’s Almanac. But Alas ! I have not
heard a word about her — no cue to begin upon. There
was indeed a buzz about her and her mother’s being at
old M^ So and So’s who was like to die — as the jews say —
but I dare say, keeping up their dialect, she was not like
to die. I must tell you a good thing Reynolds did: ’twas
the best thing he ever said. You know at taking leave
of a party at a doorway, sometimes a Man dallies and
^ Gf. Letter 144 and note, p. 427.

459

Letter 147 September

foolishes and gets awkward, and does not know how
to make off to advantage. Good-bye — well — good-bye
— and yet he does not go — good-bye and so on — ^well —
good bless you. You know what I mean. Now Reynolds
was in this predicament and got out of it in a very witty
way. He was leaving us at Hampstead. He delayed,
and we were joking at him and even said, 'be off’ — at
which he put the tails of his coat between his legs, and
sneak’d off as nigh like a spanial [sic] as could be. He went
with flying colours: this is very clever. I must, being
upon the subject, tell you another good thing of him.
He began, for the service it might be of to him in the
law, to learn french. He had Lessons at the cheap rate
of f2. 6 per fag, and observed to Brown, 'Gad’ says he,
'the man sells his Lessons so cheap he must have stolen
’em.’ You have heard of Hook^ the farce writer.
Horace Smith said to one who ask’d him if he knew
Hook 'Oh yes, Hook and I are very intimate.’ There ’s
a page of Wit for you, to put John Bunyan’s emblems^
out of countenance.

Tuesday [21 September 1819]. — ^You see I keep
adding a sheet daily till I send the packet off — ^which
I shall not do for a few days as I am inclined to write
a good deal: for there can be nothing so remembrancing
and enchaining as a good long letter be it composed of
what it may. From the time you left me, our friends
say I have altered completely — am not the same person
— perhaps in this letter I am[,] for in a letter one takes up
one’s existence from the time we last met — I dare say
you have altered also — every man does — our bodies every
seven years are completely fresh-material’ d — seven years
ago it was not this hand that clench’d itself against
Hammond.^ We are like the relict garments of a Saint :

^ Theodore Edward Hook (1788-1841).

® ‘Book for Boys and Girls% 1686; in later editions called
‘Divine Emblems’.

\ 'Fhis phrase points to a serious rupture as the cause of his
quitting his apprenticeship to Hammond.

460

iSig Letter 147

the same and not the same: for the careful Monks patch
it and patch it : till there ’s not a thread of the original
garment left — and still they show it for Anthony’s
shirt. This is the reason why men who had been bosom
friends, on being separated for any number of years,
afterwards meet coldly, neither of them knowing w^hy.
The fact is they are both altered — Men who live to-
gether have a silent moulding, and influencing power
over each other. They interassimulate [i-zV]. ’Tis an
uneasy thought that in seven years the same hands
cannot greet each other again. All this may be obviated
by a willful and dramatic exercise of our Minds
towards each other. Some think I have lost that
poetic ardour and fire ’tis said I once had — the fact is
perhaps I have: but instead of that I hope I shall sub-
stitute a more thoughtful and quiet power. I am more
frequently, now, contented to read and think — but now
and then, haunted with ambitious thoughts. Qui[e]ter
in my pulse, improved in my digestion; exerting my-
self against vexing speculations — scarcely content to
write the best verses for the fever they leave behind.
I want to compose w’ithout this fever. I hope I one day
shall. You w^ould scarcely imagine I could live alone
so comfortably ‘Kepen in solitaiinesse’.^ I told Anne,
the ser\^ant here, the other day, to say I was not at
home if any one shoxild call. I am not certain how I
should endure loneliness and bad weather together.
Now the time is beautiful. I take a walk every day for
an hour before dinner and this is generally my walk.
I go out at the back gate across one street, into the
Cathedral yard, which is always interesting; then I pass
under the trees along a paved path, pass the beautiful
front of the Cathedral, turn to the left under a stone
door way, — then I am on the other side of the building
— ^which leaving behind me I pass on through two

* These words from ‘The Eve of St. ^lark’ seem to have pleased
their author specially: he quotes them in his letter to Reynolds of
the 2 1 St September 1819 also, p. 417.

461

Letter 147 September

coUege-like squares seemingly built for the dwelling
place of Deans and Prebendaries— garnished with grass
and shaded with trees. Then I pass through one of the
old city gates and then you are in one College Street
through which I pass and at the end thereof crossing
some meadows and at last a country alley of gardens
I arrive, that is, my worship arrives at the foundation
of Saint Cross,' which is a very interesting old place,
both for its gothic tower and alms-square, and for the
appropriation of its rich rents to a relation of the Bishop
of Winchester. Then I pass across St. Cross meadows
till you come to the most beautifully clear river — ^now
this is only one mile of my walk I will spare you the
other two till after supper when they would do you
more good. You must avoid going the first mile just
after dinner. I could almost advise you to put by all this
nonsense until you are lifted out of your difficulties— but
when you come to this part feel with confidence what I
now feel that though there can be no stop put to troubles
we are inheritors of there can be and must be and [«V]
end to immediate difficulties. Rest in the confidence that
I will not omit any exertion to benefit you by some means
or other. If I cannot remit you hundreds, I will tens
and if not that ones. Let the next year be managed by
you as well as possible — the next month I mean for I
trust you will soon receive Abbey’s remittance. What
he can send you will not be a sufficient capital to ensure
you any command in America. What he has of mine
I nearly have anticipated by debts. So I would advise
you not to sink it, but to live upon it in hopes of my
being able to encrease it. To this end I will devote
whatever I may gain for a few years to come — at which
period I must begin to think of a security of my own
comforts when quiet will become more pleasant to me

> See Letter 137, p. 408. Anthony Trollope (1815-82) wrote
about St. Cross and the scandal connected therewith in ‘The
Warden’, 1855. — M.B.F.

462

i 8 ig Letter 147

than the Worlds Still I would have you doubt my
success. ’Tis at present the cast of a die with me. You
say ‘these things will be a great torment to me.’ I shall
not suffer them to be so. I shall only exert myself the
more — while the seriousness of their nature will pre-
vent me from nursing up imaginary griefs.^ I have not
had the blue devils once since I received your last.
I am advised not to publish till it is seen whether the
Tragedy will or not succeed. Should it, a few months
may see me in the way of acquiring property; should it
not it will be a drawback and I shall have to perform
a longer literary Pilgrimage. You will perceive that it
is quite out of my interest to come to America. What
could I do there? How could I employ myself? out of
the reach of Libraries. You do not mention the name
of the gentleman who assists you. ’Tis an extraordinary
thing. How could you do without that assistance? I
will not trust myself with brooding over this. The
following is an extract from a Letter of Reynolds to me.
T am glad to hear you are getting on so well with your
writings. I hope you are not neglecting the revision of
your Poems for the press: from which I expect more
than you do.’

The first thought that struck me on reading your last,
was to mo[r]tgage a Poem to Murray: but on more con-
sideration I made up my mind not to do so:^ my reputa-
tion is very low: he woiild perhaps not have negociated
my bill of intellect or given me a very small sum* I
should have bound myself down for some time. ’Tis
best to meet present misfortunes; not for a momentary
good to sacrifice great benefits which one’s own un-
tram [mjell’d and free industry may bring one in the
end. In all this do never think of me as in any way
unhappy: I shall not be so. I have a great pleasure in

^ Cf. t±ie beginning of this letter: ‘The time may come when age
will make me more selfish,’

* Cf. Letter 146, of 23 September, p. 433.

3 Cf. Letter 144, of 22 September, p. 428.

463

Letter 147 September

thinking of my responsibility to you and shall do my-
self the greatest luxury if I can succeed in any way so
as to be of assistance to you. We shall look back upon
these times — even before our eyes are at all dim — I am
convinced of it. But be careful of those Americans
— I could almost advise you to come whenever you
have the sum of 500^;^ to England — Those Americans
will I am affraid still fleece you. If ever you should
think of such a thing you must bear in mind the very
different state of society here — ^The immense difficulties
of the times — ^The great sum required per annum to
maintain yourself in any decency. In fact the whole is
with Providence. I know now [for not] how to advise
you but by advising you to advise with yourself. In your
next tell me at large your thoughts about america; what
chance there is of succeeding there: for it appears to me
you have as yet been somehow deceived. I cannot help
thinking Audubon has deceived yom I shall not
like the sight of him. I shall endeavour to avoid seeing
him. You see how puzzled I am. I have no meridian
to fix you to — being the Slave of what is to happen.
I think I may bid you finally remain in good hopes; and
not tease yourself with my changes and variations of
Mind. If I say nothing decisive in any one particular
part of my Letter, you may glean the truth from the
whole pretty correctly. You may wonder why I had
not put your affairs with Abbey in train on receiving
your Letter before last, to which there will reach you
a short answer dated from Shanklin.^ I did write and
speak to Abbey but to no purpose. Your last, with the
enclosed note has appealed home to him. He will not
see ffie necessity of a thing till he is hit in the mouth.
’Tvrill be effectual. I am sorry to mix up foolish and
serious things together — but in writing so much I am
obliged to do so — and I hope sincerely the tenor of your
mind will maintain itself better. In the course of a few
months I shall be as good an Italian Scholar as I am

^ Not extant so far 35 I know, but cf. Letter 126.

464

iSig Letter 147

a french one. I am reading Ariosto^ at present: not
managing more than six or eight stanzas at a time.
When I have done this language so as to be able to read
it tolerably well — I shall set myself to get complete in
latin, and there my learning must stop. I do not think
of venturing upon Greek. I would not go even so far if
I were not persuaded of the power the knowle[d]ge of
any language gives one — the fact is I like to be acquainted
with foreign languages. It is besides a nice way of filling
up intervals, &c. Also the reading of Dante in [for is]
well worth the while. And in latin there is a fund of
curious literature of the middle ages. The Works of many
great Men — ^Aretine and Sanazarius and Machievell.^ —
I shall never become attach’d to a foreign idiom so as to
put it into my writings. The Paradise lost though so fine
in itself is a curruption [sic] of our Language — ^it should
be kept as it is unique — a curiosity — a beautiful and
grand Curiosity. The most remarkable Production of
the world. A northern dialect accommodating itself to
greek and latin inversions and intonations. The purest
english I think — or what ought to be the purest — ^is
Chatterton’s.3 The Language had existed long enough
to be entirely uncorrupted of Chaucer’s gallicisms, and
still the old words are used. Ghatterton’s language is
entirely northern. I prefer the native music of it to
Milton’s cut by feet. I have but lately stood on my
guard against Milton. Life to him would be death to
me. Miltonic verse cannot be written but is the verse of
art. I wish to devote myself to another sensation.

[Friday, 24 September 1819]. I have been obliged
to intermitten your Letter for two days (this being
Friday mom) from having had to attend to other
correspondence. Brown who was at Bedhampton, went
thence to Chichester, and I still directing my letters

^ Cf. Letter 140, p. 414.

* Pietro Aretino (1492-1557); Jacopo Sannazaro (i 458 -i 53 f>);
Niccolo Machiavelli (1469-1527).

3 Cf. Letter 142, dat^ 21 September, p. 419.

465

Letter 147 September

Bedhampton — there arose a misunderstanding] about
them. I began to suspect my Letters had been stopped
from curiosity. However yesterday Brown had four
Letters from me“ all in a Lump — and the matter is
clear’d up — ^Brown complained very much in his letter
to me of yesterday of the great alteration the Disposition
of Dilke has undergone. He thinks of nothing but
‘Political Justice’^ and his Boy. Now the first political
duty a Man ought to have a Mind to is the happiness
of his friends. I wrote Brown a comment^ on the subject,
wherein I explained what I thought of Dilke’s Charac-
ter. Which resolved itself into this conclusion. That '
Dilke was a Man who cannot feel he has a personal
identity unless he has made up his Mind about every
thing. The only means of strengthening one’s intellect
is to make up one’s mind about nothing — to let the Tm’nd
be a thoroughfare for all thoughts. Not a select party.
The genus is not scarce in population. All the stubborn'
arguers you meet with are of the same brood. They
never begin upon a subject they have not preresolved
on. They want to hammer their nail into you and if
you turn the point, still they think you wrong. Dilke
will never come at a truth as long as he lives; because
he is always trying at it. He is a Godwin-methodist.

I must not forget to mention that your mother show’d
me the lock of hair— ’tis of a very dark colour for so
young a creature. When it is two feet in length I sh ^ll
not stand a barleycorn higher. That ’s not fair— one
ought to go on growing as well as others. At the end of
this sheet I shall stop for the present — and send it off.

YoumayexpectanotherLetterimmediatelyafterit. As I

never knowthe day of the mo[n]th but by chance, I put
here that this is the September. I would wish you here
cars, for I have a word or two to say to your
Wife. My dear sister. In the first place I must quarrel

' None of th«e is extant so far as I know a. Letter 143, p. 425.
" ^wm’s ‘Political Justice’, published 1793. ^ a

’ Letter not extant.

466

I ^^9 Letter 147

with you for sending me such a shabby sheet of paper —
though that is in some degree made up for by the
beautiful impression of the seal. You should like to
know what I was doing the first of May — let me see —
I cannot recollect. I have all the Examiners ready to
send. They will be a great treat to you when they reach
you. I shall pack them up when my Business with
Abbeys has come to a good conclusion and the remit-
tance is on the road to you. I have dealt round your
best wishes to our friends like a pack of cards, but being
always given to cheat, myself, I have turned up ace.^
You see I am making game of you. I see you are not at
all happy in that America. England however would
not be over happy for us if you were here. Perhaps
’twould be better to be teased here than there. I must
preach patience to you both. No step hasty or injurious
to you must be taken. Your observation on the
moschetos gives me great pleasure. ’Tis excessively
poetical and humane. You say let one large sheet be
all to me. You will find more than that in different
parts of this packet for you. Certainly, I have been
caught in rains. A Catch in the rain occasioned my
last sore throat — ^but as for red-hair’d girls upon my
word I do not recollect ever having seen one. Are you
quizzing me or Miss Waldegrave when you talk of
promenading. As for Pun-making, I wish it was as good
a trade as pin-making. There is very little business of
that sort going on now. We struck for wages like the
Manchester we[a]vers^ — ^but to no purpose — ^so we are
all out of employ. I am more lucky than some you see

^ Opposite Lord Houghton’s version of this passage Dilke notes
— ‘The business for Greorge mentioned P 19 [at the beginning of
this letter] and this with Abbey related I have no doubt to a
settlement of Tom’s property. To settle with Abbey was a difficult
thing — and must have been particularly so while George was
abroad. John I think got money for himself, as I have before
mentioned, though only in part.’

2 Gf. Letter 125, p. 382, ‘if my Fate does not turn up Pam.’

3 Manchester cotton-spinners’ strike, 1818.

467

Letter 147 September

by having an op[p]ortunity of exporting a few — getting
into a littie foreign trade — ^which is a comfortable thing.
I wish one could get change for a pun in silver currency.
I would give three and a half any night to get into
Drury-pit. But they wont ring at all. No more will
notes you will say — but notes are differing things —
though they make together a Pun-note — as the term
goes. If I were your Son I shouldn’t mind you, though
you rapt me with the Scissors. But lord! I should be
out of favor sin the little un be comm’d. You have
made an Uncle of me, you have, and I don’t know what
to make of myself. I suppose next there’ll be a Nevey.
You say — ^in may last — ^write directly. I have not
received your Letter above 10 days. The though[t] of
you[r] little girl puts me in mind of a thing I heard a
M'' Lamb say. A child in arms was passing by his chair
toward the mother, in the nurse’s arms. Lamb took
hold of the long clothes saying ‘Where, god bless me,
where does it leave off?’ Saturday [25 September 1819].
If you would prefer a joke or two to any thing else I
have two for you fresh hatchd, just ris as the Baker’s
wives say by the rolls. The first I play’d off at Brown —
the second I play’d on on myself. Brown when he left
me' ‘Keats’ says he ‘my good fellow (staggering upon
his left heel, and fetching an irregular pirouette with
his right) Keats says he (depressing his left eyebrow
and elevating his right one ((tho by the way, at the
moment, I did not know which was the right one))
Keats says he (still in the same posture but further-
more both his hands in his waistcoat pockets and jutting
out his stomach) ‘Keats — my — go-o-ood fell-o-o-o-ooh,’
says he (interlarding his exclamation with certain
ventriloquial parentheses)— no this is all a lie— He was
as sober as a Judge when a judge happens to be sober;
and said ‘Keat[s], if any Letters come for me — do not
forward them, but open them and give me the marrow
of them in a few words.’ At the time when I wrote my

' To go ‘avisiting’ to Chichester: see end of Letter 140.
468

^Sig Letter 147

first to him no Letters had arrived. I thought I would
invent one, and as I had not time to manufacture a long
one I dabbed off as [w] short one — and that was the
reason of the joke succeeding beyond my expectations.
Brown let his house to a Benjamin a Jew. Now the
water which furnishes the house is in a tank sided with a
composition of lime, and the lime impregnates the water
unpleasantly. Taking advantage of this circumstance
I pretended that Benjamin had written the follow-
ing short note — ‘Sir. By drinking your damn’d tank
water I have got the gravel — ^what reparation can you
make to me and my family? Nathan Benjamin.’ By
a fortunate hit, I hit upon Ids right he [a] then name^ —
his right Prenomen. Brown in consequence it appears
wrote to the surprised M*" Benjamin the following —
‘Sir, I cannot offer you any remuneration until your
gravel shall have formed itself into a Stone when I will
cut you with Pleasure. C. Brown.’ This of Browns M*"
Benjamin has answered insisting on an explatinon \sic\
of this singular circumstance. B. says ‘when I read your
Letter and his following I roared, and in came Snook
who on reading them seem’d likely to burst the hoops
of his fat sides’ — so the joke has told well. Now for the
one I played on myself— I must first give you the scene
and the dramatis Personae. There are an old Major and
his youngish wife live in the next apartments to me. His
bed room door opens at an angle with my sitting room
door. Yesterday I was reading as demurely as a Parish
Clerk when I heard a rap at the door. I got up and
opened it — ^no one was to be seen. I listened and heard
some one in the Major’s room. Not content with this
I went upstairs and down, look’d in the cubboards —
and watch’d. At last I set myself to read again not
quite so demurely — ^when there came a louder rap.
I arose determin’d to find out who it was. I look[ed]
out[;] the Stair cases were all silent. ‘This must be the
Major’s wife said I — at ail events I will see the truth’

^ Gf. Letter 161, p. 489.

n

469

N

Letter 147 September

so I rapt me at the Major’s door and went in to the
utter surprise and confusion of the Lady who was in
reality there— after a little explanation, which I can no
more describe than fly, I made my retreat from her
convinced of my mistake. She is to all appearance a
silly body and is really surprised about it. She must
have been, for I have discover’d that a little girl in the
house was the Rappee — I assure you she has nearly
make [sic] me sneeze. If the Lady tells tits I shall put
a very grave and moral face on the matter with the old
Gentleman, and make his litde Boy a present of a
humming top. My Dear George — This Monday morn-
ing the 27^^ [September 1819] I have received your
last dated July i You say you have not heard from
Engian[d for three mojnths — Then my Letter from
Shanklin^ written I think at the en[d of June cannot]
have reach’d you. You shall not have cause to think
I neglect you. I have kept this back a little time in
expectation of hearing from M"^ Abbey — ^Y ou will say
I might have remained in Town to be Abbey’s
messenger in these affairs. That I offer’d him — but he
in his answer convinced me he was anxious to bring
the Business to an issue — He observed that by being
himself the agent in the whole, people might be more
expeditious. You say you have not heard for three
mo[n]ths and yet you[r] letters have the tone of know-
ing how our affairs are situated by which I conjecture
I acquainted you with them in a Letter^ previous to the

^ This would seem to be a slip of Keats’s, unless by ‘last’ he
means ‘last to arrive’, because at the beginning of this letter he
mentions one from George dated the 24th of July, previously
received. Probably the later letter was sent from the Settlement
by speedier means than the earlier one. The next two lines in the
holograph are slightly mutilated, the signature which should occur
on the verso having been cut out. The words within brackets
seem to suit the facts as Keats was in the Isle of Wight at the end
of June. — * Not extant; cf. note, p. 464.

3 Not extant. I^eats first heard of the Chancery suit on 15 June
1819, see Letters 123 and 124. Letter 1 14 was finished on 3 May,
and there is none to George between Letter 1 14 and this, 147.

470

^^^9 Letter 147

Shanklin one. That I may not have done. To be
certain I will here state that it is in consequence of
M""® Jennings threatening a Chancerv^ suit that you have
been kept from the receipt of monies and myself
deprived of any help from Abbey. I am glad you say
you keep up your Spirits — I hope you make a true
statement on that score. Still keep them up — ^for we
are all young. I can only repeat here that you shall
hear from me again immediately. Notwithstanding
their bad intelligence I have experienced some pleasure
in receiving so correctly two Letters from you, as it
give[s] me if I may so say a distant Idea of Proximity.
This last improves upon my little niece. Kiss her for
me. Do not fret yourself about the delay of money on
account of any immediate opportunity being lost: for
in a new country whoever has money must have
opportunity of employing it in many ways. The report
runs now more in favor of Kean stopping in England.
If he should I have confident hopes of our Tragedy —
If he smokes the hotblooded character of Ludolph —
and he is the only actor that can do it — ^He wiU add to
his own fame, and improve my fortune. I will give you
a half dozen lines of it before I part as a specimen —

‘Not as a Swordsman would I pardon crave,

But as a Son: the bronz’d Centurion
Long-toil’d in forreign wars, and whose high deeds
Are shaded in a forest of tall spears
Known only to his troops hath greater plea
Of favour with my Sire than I can have — ^

Believe me my dear brother and Sister —

Your affectionate and anxious Brother

^ Cf. 'Paradise Lost’, i, 547: ‘A forest huge of spears.’
® 'Otho the Great’, i, iii, 24-9.

471

N 2

October

Letter 148

148. To CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE.

Winchester Friday Oct^ [1819].

My dear Dilke,

For sundry reasons^ which I will explain to you when
I come to Town, I have to request you will do me a
great favor as I must call it knowing how great a Bore
it is. That your imagination may not have time to take
too great an alarm I state immediat[e]ly that I want you
to hire me a *couple of rooms in Westminster. Quiet-
ness and ch[e]apness are the essentials: but as I shall
with Brown be returned by next Friday you cannot in
that space have sufficient time to make any choice
selection, and need not be very particular as I can when
on the spot suit myself at leisure. Brown bids me re-
mind you not to send the Examiners after the third.
Tell D. I am obliged to her for the late ones which
I see are directed in her hand. Excuse this mere busi-
ness letter for I assure you I have not a syllable at hand
on any subject in the world.

Your sincere friend

John Keats —

* A Sitting Room and bed room for myself alone.

149. To BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Winchester, Sunday Morn [Postmark^ 3 October 1819]

My dear Haydon,

Certainly I might: but a few Months pass away
before we are aware. I have a great aversion to letter

148. Lord Houghton, referring here to Keats and Brown, says —
‘The friends returned to town together, and Keats took possession
of his new abode. But he had miscalculated his own powers of
endurance: the enforced absence from his friends was too much for
him, and a still stronger impulse drew him back again to Hamp-
stead.’

149. It will be observed that, while Keats’s attitude towards the
genius of Haydon shows no change in this letter, there is, when we
compare it with former letters, a certain reserve of tone, quite
corresponding with the altered personal attitude referred to in the
letter to George Keats (page 458).

472

iSig Letter 149

writing, which grows more and more upon me; and
a greater to summon up circumstances before me of an
unpleasant nature. I was not willing to trouble you
with them. Could I have dated from my Palace of
Milan you would have heard from me. Not even now
will I mention a word of my affairs — only that ‘I Rab
am here’ but shall not be here more than a Week more,
as I purpose to settle in Town and work my way with
the rest. I hope I shall never be so silly as to injure my
health and industry for the future by speaking, writing
or fretting about my non-estate. I have no quarrel,
I assure you, of so weighty a nature with the world, on
my own account as I have on yours. I have done
nothing — except for the amusement of a few people who
refine upon their feelings till any thing in the ununder-
standable way will go down with them — people pre-
disposed for sentiment. I have no cause to complain
because I am certain any thing really fine will in these
days be felt. I have no doubt that if I had written
Othello I should have been cheered by as good a mob
as Hunt.^ So would you be now if the operation of
painting was as universal as that of Writing. It is not:
and therefore it did behove men I could mention among
whom I must place Sir George Beaumont^ to have lifted
you up above sordid cares. That this has not been done
is a disgrace to the coxmtry. I know very little of Paint-
ing, yet your pictures follow me into the Country.
When I am tired of reading I often think them over and
as often condemn the spirit of modem Connoisseurs.
Upon the whole, indeed, you have no complaint to
make, being able to say what so few Men can, T have
succeeded’. On sitting down to write a few lines to you
these are the uppermost in my mind, and, however
I may be beating about the arctic while your spirit has
passed the line, you may lay-to a minute and consider

^ The reference is to the mob which cheered Henry Hunt as he
entered London: see page 445.

* Sir George Howland Beaumont ( r 753-1 82 7) : see note i , p. 475.

473

Letter 149 October

I am earnest as far as I can see. Though at this present
1 have great dispositions to write’ ^ I feel every day more
and more content to read. Books are becoming more
interesting and valuable to me. I may say I could not
live without them. If in the course of a fortnight you
can procure me a ticket to the British Museum I will
make a better use of it than I did in the first instance.
I shall go on with patience in the confidence that if I
ever do any thing worth remembering the Reviewers
will no more be able to stumble-block me than the
Royal Academy could you. They have the same
quarrel with you that the Scotch nobles had with
Wallace. The fame they have lost through you is no
joke to them. Had it not been for you Fuseli would
have been not as he is major but maximus domo. What
Reviewers can put a hindrance to must be — a nothing
— or mediocre which is worse. I am sorry to say that

since I saw you I have been guilty of a practical

joke upon Brown which has had all the success of an
innocent Wildfire among people. Some day in the
next week you shall hear it from me by word of Mouth.
I have not seen the portentous Book, which was skum-
mer’d^ at you just as I left town. It may be light enough

* Cf. ‘Merry Wives of Windsor’, m, i, 22.

^ The middle of this word has been tom away with the seal of
the letter; but I have no doubt it was the expressive provincialism
restored in the text, used in much the same sense as in the lines
from John Davies’ ‘Commendatory Verses,’ —

And for a monument to after-commers

Their picture shall continue (though Time scummers

Upon th’ Efiigie . . .).

The late Frank Scott Haydon identified the book for me, — ‘A
Desultory Exposition of an Anti-British System of Incendiary
Publication’, &c. (London, 1819). The author, William Carey,
appears to have been an art-critic, and to have criticized Haydon’s
Dentatus in ‘The Champion’. The book was described by Frank
Haydon as ‘an answer to certain statements in the “Annals of the
Fine Arts”,’ containing ‘a very fair, though bitter, criticism of
the tone of that remarkable periodical, and of the misstatements
in it a thorough exposure.’

474

^^^9 Letter 149

to serve you as a Cork Jacket and save you for awhile
the trouble of swimming. I heard the Man went raking
and rummaging about like any Richardson. That and
the Memoirs of Menage are the first I shall be at. From
G. B’s, Lord Ms^ and particularly John Leicesters
good lord deliver us. I shall expect to see your Picture
plumped out like a ripe Peach — ^you would not be very
willing to give me a slice of it. I came to this place in
the hopes of meeting with a Library^ but was dis-
appointed. The High Street is as quiet as a Lamb. The
knockers are dieted to three raps per diem. The walks
about are interesting from the many old Buildings and
archways. The view of the High Street through the
Gate of the City in the beautifol September evening
light has amused me frequently. The bad singing of the
Cathedral I do not care to smoke — being by myself I
am not very coy in my taste. At St. Cross there is an
interesting picture of Albert Diirer’s^ — ^who living in
such warlike times perhaps was forced to paint in his
Gaundets — so we must make all allowances.

I am my dear Haydon

Yours ever

John Keats

Brown has a few words to say to you and will cross
this.

My dear Sir,

I heard yesterday you had written to me at Hampstead. I have
not reed, your letter. You must, I think, accuse me of neglect.

^ Sir George Beaumont and Sir Henry Phipps, first Earl of
Mulgrave (1755-1831). Perhaps Haydon had been recalling the
rejection of the picture of Macbeth commissioned some ten years
before — an afifair concerning which he declared thirty-one years
after its occurrence that he was ‘still suffering from its fatal effects’.
Lord Mulgrave and Sir John Fleming Leicester, first Lord de
Tabley (1762-1827), were both among Haydon’s patrons; but I
do not know what particular offence they had committed in
Keats’s eyes in 1819.

* The painting is no longer in the Hospital of St, Cross. — ^M.B.F.

475

Letter 1 50 October

but indeed I do not merit it. This many worded Keats has left me
no room to say more. — I shall be in Town in a few days. —

Your*s truly

Ghas- Brown.

150. To Miss BRAWNE, Wentworth Place ^ Hampstead,

College Street [Postmark, ii October 1819].

My sweet Girl,

I am living today in yesterday: I was in a complete
fa[s]cination all day. I feel myself at your mercy.
Write me ever so few lines and tell you [for me] you
will never for ever be less kind to me than yesterday. —
You dazzled me. There is nothing in the world so
bright and delicate. When Brown came out with that
seemingly true story again[s]t me last night, I felt it
would be death to me if you had ever believed it —
though against any one else I could muster up my
obstinacy. Before I knew Brown could disprove it I
was for the moment miserable. When shall we pass
a day alone? I have had a thousand kisses, for which
with my whole soul I thank love — but if you should
deny me the thousand and first — ’twould put me to the
proof how great a misery I could live through. If you
should ever carry your threat yesterday into execution —
believe me ’tis not my pride, my vanity or any petty
passion would torment me — really ’twould hurt my
heart — I could not bear it. I have seen Dilke this
morning; she says she will come with me any fine day.

Ever yours

Ah herte mine! John Keats

150. It would seem to have been at No. 25 College Street that
Dilke obtained for Keats the rooms which the poet asked him to
find in Letter 148. How long Keats remained in those rooms I
have been unable to determine, to a day; but in Letter Number 1 52,
headed ‘Wentworth Place’, and postmarked the i6th of October
^819 (p. 478), he speaks of having ‘returned to Hampstead’, after
lodging ‘two or three days’ ‘in the neighbourhood of Mrs. Dilke’.
In Letter Number 153 he writes from Great Smith Street (the
address of the Dilkes) of his purpose to live at Hampstead. I suppose

476

1 51. To Miss BRAW^E, Wentworth Place ^ Hampstead.

25 College Street [Postmark^ 13 October 1819].
My dearest Girl,

This moment I have set myself to copy some verses
out fair. I cannot proceed with any degree of content.

I must write you a line or two and see if that will assist
in dismissing you from my Mind for ever so short a
time. Upon my Soul I can think of nothing else. The
time is passed when I had powder to ad\ise and warn
you against the unpromising morning of my Life. My
love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you.

I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again —
my Life seems to stop there — I see no further. You
have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present
moment as though I was dissolving — I should be
exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing
you, I should be afiraid to separate myself far from you.
My sweet Fanny, will your heart never change? My

love, will it? I have no limit now to my love ^

You[r] note came in just here. I cannot be happier
away from you. ’Tis richer than an Argosy of Pearles.
Do not threat me even in jest. I have been astonished
that Men could die Martyrs for religion — I have
shudder’d at it. I shudder no more — I could be
martyr’d for my Religion — Love is my religion — I
could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is
Love and you are its only tenet. You have ravish’d me
away by a Power I cannot resist; and yet I could resist
till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have
endeavoured often ‘to reason against the reasons of my
Love’.^ I can do that no more — the pain would be too .
great. My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you. ^

Yours for ever

John Keats.

the ‘three days dream’ there referred to was a visit to Mrs. Brawme’s
house, from which he proceeded to Mrs. Dilke’s — there to come to
a final resolution of living at Hampstead.

^ Keats’s dots. ® Gf. ‘Cymbeline’, rv, ii. 20-22.

477

Letter 152 October

152. To Miss KEATS, Abbeys Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place [Postmark^ 16 October 1819].
My dear Fanny,

My Conscience is always reproaching me for neglect-
ing you for so long a time. I have been returned from
Winchester this fortnight and as yet I have not seen you.
I have no excuse to offer. I should have no excuse.
I shall expect to see you the next time I call on M^ A
about Georges affairs which perplex me a great deal —
I should have to day gone to see if you were in Town,
but as I am in an i[n]dustrious humour (which is so
necessary to my livelihood for the future) I am loath to
break through it though it be merely for one day, for
when I am inclined I can do a great deal in a day —
I am more fond of pleasure than study (many men have
prefer’d the latter) but I have become resolved to know
something which you will credit when I tell you I have
left off animal food that my brains may never hence-
forth be in a greater mist than is theirs by nature —
I took lodgings in Westminster for the purpose of being
in the reach of Books, but am now returned to Hamp-
stead being induced to it by the habit I have acquired
of this room I am now in and also from the pleasure of
being free from paying any petty attentions to a diminu-
tive house-keeping. M^ Brown has been my great friend
for some time— without him I should have been in,
perhaps, personal distress — as I know you love me
though I do not deserve it, I am sure you will take
pleasure in being a friend to M^ Brown even before you
know him. My Lodgings for two or three days were
close in the neighbourhood of M^® Dilke who never sees
me but she enquires after you— I have had letters from
George lately which do not contain, as I think I told
you in my last,^ the best news. I have hopes for the best

^ i.e., No. 137, but he did not mention the contents. It was in
No. 144 to Dilke that he used, as here, a negative phrase: ‘not the
most comfortable intelligence.’

478

Letter 153

— I trust in a good termination to his affairs which you
please god will soon hear of— It is better you should not
be teased with the particulars. The whole amount of
the ill news is that his mercantile speculations have not
had success in consequence of the general depression of
trade in the whole province of Kentucky and indeed all
america. I have a couple of shells for you you w^ill call
pretty.

Your affectionate Brother
John —

153. To Miss BRAWNE, Wentworth Place ^ Hampstead,

Great Smith Street, Tuesday Mom.

[Postmark, College Street, 19 October 1819.]
My sweet Fanny,

On awakening from my three days dream (T cry to
dream again’) ^ I find one and another astonish’d at my
idleness and thoughtlessness. I was miserable last night
— the morning is always restorative. I must be busy,
or try to be so. I have several things to speak to you of
tomorrow morning. Dilke I should think will tell
you that I purpose living at Hampstead. I must impose
chains upon myself. I shall be able to do nothing,
I sho[u]ld like to cast the die for Love or death. I have
no Patience with any thing else — ^if you ever intend to
be cruel to me as you say in jest now but perhaps may
sometimes be in earnest, be so now — and I will — my
mind is in a tremble, I cannot tell what I am writing.

Ever my love yours

John Keats.

154. To JOSEPH SEVERN, Esq^®, 6 Goswell Street Road,
Opposite Spencer Street,

Wentworth Place Wednesday [October 1819?]
Dear Severn,

Either your Joke about staying at home is a very old

^ ‘Tempest’, m, ii, 152-5.

154. The original letter bears no legible dated postmark; but

479

Letter 1 55 November

one or I really calFd. I dont remember doing so. I am
glad to hear you have finish’d the Picture and am more
anxious to see it than I have time to spare: for I have
been so very lax, unemployed, unmeridian’ d, and
objectless these two months that I even grudge induld-
ing [sic] (and that is no great indulgence considering
the Lecture is not over till 9 and the lecture room seven
miles from Wentworth Place) myself by going to
Hazlitt’s Lecture.^ If you have hours to the amount of
a brace of dozens to throw away you may sleep nine of
them here in yotir little Crib and chat the rest. When
your Picture is up and in a good light I shall make
a point of meeting you at the Academy if you will let
me know when. If you should be at the Lecture to-
morrow evening I shall see you — and congratulate you
heartily — Haslam I know ‘is very Beadle to an amorous
sigh’2

Your sincere friend

John Keats.

155. To Miss KEATS, Abbey's Esq^^ Pancras Lane^ Queen
Street^ Ckeapside,

Wednesday Mom. [Postmark^ 17 November 1819.]
My dear Fanny,

I received your Letter yesterday Evening and will
obey it tomorrow. I would come to day — but I have
been to Town so frequently on Georges Business it
makes me wish to employ to day at Hampstead. So
I say Thursday without fail. I have no news at all
entertaining and if I had ! should not have time to tell
them as I wish to send this by the morning Post.

Your affectionate Brother

John —

it is inscribed ‘1819’ in Severn’s writing. It probably belongs to
the end of October 1819. The picture was that of the Gave of
Despair: see Letter 157.

^ Lectures on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth,
at the Surrey Institution, ^lackfHars Road.

^ Cf. ‘Love’s Labour’s Lost’, ni, i, 183.

480

156. To JOHN TAYLOR.

Wentworth Place, Wednesday
[Postmark^ Hampstead, 17 November 1819.]

My dear Taylor,

I have come to a determination not to publish any
thing I have now ready written: but for all that to
publish a Poem before long and that I hope to make
a fine one. As the mar\^ellous is the most enticing, and
the surest guarantee of harmonious numbers^ I have
been endeavouring to persuade myself to untether
Fancy and let her manage for herself. I and myself
cannot agree about this at all. W’^onders are no wonders
to me. I am more at home amongst men and women.
I would rather read Chaucer than Ariosto.^ The little
dramatic skill I may as yet have however badly it might
show in a Drama would I think be sufficient for a Poem.
I wish to diffuse the colouring of St. Agnes Eve through-
out a Poem in which Character and Sentiment would
be the figures to such drapery. Two or three such
Poems, if God should spare me, written in the course of
the next 6 years, wo"^ be a famous Gradus ad Pamas-
sum altissimum. I mean they would nerve me up to
the writing of a few fine plays — my greatest ambition
when I do feel ambitious. I am sorry' to say that is very'
seldom. The subject we have once or twice talked of
appears a promising one, the Earl of Leicester's histoIy^
I am this morning reading Holingshead’s^ Elizabeth.
You had some books awhile ago, you promised to send
me, illustrative of my Subject. If you can lay hold of
them or any others which may be serviceable to me I
know you will encourage my low-spirited Muse by
sending them — or rather by letting me know when our
errand cart Man shall call with my little box. I will

^ ‘Paradise Lost’, iii, 38.

2 Gf. Letter 140, p. 414.

3 Raphael Holinshed (d. 1580?), ‘Chronicles of England^
published in 1577.

481

Letter 157 December

endeavour to set my self selfishly at work on this Poem
that is to be. —

Your sincere friend

John Keats —

157. JOSEPH SEVERN.

Wentworth Place, Monday Morn — [6 December 1819?]
My dear Severn,

I am very sorry that on Tuesday I have an appoint-
ment in the City of an undeferable nature; and Brown
on the same day has some business at Guildhall. I have
not been able to figure your manner of executing the
Gave of despair, therefore it will be at any rate a novelty
and surprise to me — I trust on the right side. I shall
call upon you some morning shortly early enough to

157. This letter is given from a manuscript without date,
address, or postmark; but I think there can be no doubt the pro-
posed visit to the Academy was for the purpose of seeing Severn’s
‘Gave of Despair’ ‘hung up for the prize’. If so, probably the
Monday on which the letter was written was the 6th of December
1819; for among Severn’s Keats relics was an outside leaf of a letter
bearing a Hampstead postmark of that date, addressed by Keats
to ‘Joseph Severn Esq^, 6 Goswell Street Road, Near North-
ampton Square,’ and probably belonging to this very letter. The
pictures for the ‘Cave of Despair’ competition were to be in the
Academy by the ist of November 1819; and some one from the
Literary Gazette had seen them by the loth of December, the day
on which the premiums were to be distributed. The critic professes
not to know the decision, but gives his voice in favour of ‘a
Severn, who has produced a very clever and unexaggerated
picture’. When the picture appeared at the Academy exhibition
of the next year, there was the following note on it in ‘Annals of
the Fine Arts’: — ‘This picture, it appears, obtained the medal last
year; and we are sorry that of all their students such as this should
be the best. Their regulations drive the able from their schools,
and humble mediocrity is all that is left them.’ In the Academy
catalogue for 1820 the title of the picture (Number 398) is ‘Una
and the Red Cross Kjiight in the Gave’; and an extract is given
from The Faerie Queene’, i, ix, 48-52 — the passage in which
Una seiz^ the dagger from the Red Cross Knight and prevents
his ming It against himself. The reference to the Prize Poem and
Its Rivals is of course a joke.

^Sig Letter 158

catch you before you can get out — when we will pro-
ceed to the Academy. I think you must be suited with
a good painting light in your Bay window. I wish you
to return the Compliment by going with me to see a
Poem I have hung up for the Prize in the Lecture Room
of the surry Institution. I have many Rivals [ — ] the most
threat[e]ning are An Ode to Lord Castlereagh, and a
news \sic\ series of Hymns for the New'*, new Jerusalem
Chapel. You had best put me into your Cave of
despair —

Ever yours sincerely

John Keats

158. To JAMES RICE Jun^ Esq’^®, Poland Street^ Oxford
[Street\,

Wentworth Place [December 1819].

My dear Rice,

As I want the coat on my back mended, I would
be obliged if you will send me the one Brown left
at your house, by the Bearer — During your late con-
test I hea[r]d regular reports of you; how that your
time was entirely taken up, and you[r] health im-
proving — I shall call in the course of a few days and see
whether your promotion has made any difference in
your Behaviour to us. I suppose Reynolds has given
you an account of Brown and EUiston^ As he has not
rejected our Tragedy I shall not venture to call him
directly a fool; but as he wishes to put it off till next
season I cant help thinking him little better than a
Kjiave^ — That it \^1 not be acted this Season is yet un-
certain — Perhaps we may give it another furbish and try
it at covent Garden. ’Twould do one’s heart good to
see Macready in Ludolph. If you do not see me soon it
will be from the humour of writing, which I have had
for three days continuing. I must say to the Muses

^ Robert William EUiston (1774-1831), actor and lessee and
manager of Drury Lane, 1819-26.

® Of. ‘Much Ado about Nothing^ rv. ii. 24.

483

Letter 159 December

what the maid says to the Man — ‘take me while the fit
is on me/ Would you like a true story[?] ‘There was
a Man and his Wife who being to go a long journey on
foot, in the course of their travels came to a River which
rolled knee deep over the pebbles — In these cases the
Man generally pulls off his shoes and stockings and
carries the woman over on his Back. This Man did so;
and his Wife being pregnant and troubled, as in such
cases is very common, with strange longings, took the
strangest that ever was heard of. Seeing her Husband’s
foot, a handsome on[e] enough, look very clean and
tempting in the clear water, on their arrival at the
other bank she earnestly demanded a bit of it; he being
an affectionate fellow and fearing for the comeliness of
his child gave her a bit which he cut off with his Clasp
Knife — Not satisfied she asked another morsel — sup-
posing there might be twins he gave her a slice more.
Not yet contented she craved another Piece. ‘You
Wretch cries the Man, would you wish me to kill my-
self? take that!’ Upon which he stabb’d her with the
knife, cut her open and found three Children in her
Belly [:] two of them very comfortable with their mouths
shut, the third with its eyes and mouth stark staring
open. ‘Who would have thought it’ cried the Widower,
and pursued his journey — , Brown has a little rumbling
in his Stomach this morning —

Ever yours sincerely

John Keats —

159. To Miss KEATS, Abbey s Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place Monday Morn —

\Postmark^ 20 December, 1819.]

My dear Fanny,

When I saw you last, you ask’d me whether you
should see me again before Christmas. You would
have seen me if I had been quite well. I have not,
though not unwell enough to have prevented me — ^not
indeed at all— but fearful le[s]t the weather should

484

Letter 159

affect my throat which on exertion or cold continually
threatens me. — ^By the ad\ice of my Doctor I have had
a %varm great Coat made and have ordered some thick
shoes— so furnish’d I shall be with you if it holds a little
fine before Christmas day. — I have been veiy^ busy
since I saw you, especially the last Week and shall be
for some time, in preparing some Poems to come out in
the Spring and also in h[e]ightening the interest of our
Tragedy. Of the Tragedy I can give you but news
semigood. It is accepted at Drury Lane with a promise
of coming out next season:, as that will be too long a
delay we have determined to get Elliston to bring it out
this Season or to transfer it to Covent Garden. This
Elliston will not like, as we have every motive to believe
that Kean has perceived how suitable the principal
Character will be for him. My hopes of success in the
literary world are now better than ever. M’' Abbey, on
my calling on him lately, appeared anxious that I
should apply myself to something else— He mentioned
Tea Brokerage. I supposed he might perhaps mean to
give me the Brokerage of his concern, which might be
executed with little trouble and a good profit; and
therefore said I should have no objection to it especially
as at the same time it occur [r] ed to me that I might makp
over the business to George — I questioned him about it
a few days after. His mind takes odd turns. When I
became a Suitor he became coy. He did not seem so
much inclined to serve me. He described what I should
have to do in the progress of business. It will not suit
me. I have given it up. I have not heard again from
George which rather disappoints me, as I wish to hear
before I make any fresh remittance of his property. I
received a note from M” Dilke a few days ago inviting
me to dine with her on Xmas day, which I shall do.

Brown sind I go on in our old dog trot of Breakfast,
dinner (not tea for we have left that off) supper Sleep,
Confab, stirring the fire and reading. Whilst I was in
the Country last Summer M” Bentley tells me a woman

485

n

o

Letter i6o December i 8ig

in mour[n]ing calFd on me, — and talk’d something of
an aunt of ours — I am so careless a fellow I did not
enquire, but will particularly: On Tuesday I am going
to hear some Schoolboys Speechify on breaking up day—
I’ll lay you a pocket pi[e]ce we shall have 'My name is
norv^al’^ I have not yet look’d for the Letter you men-
tion’d as it is mix’d up in a box full of papers — ^you must
tell me, if you can recollect, the subject of it. This
moment Bentley brought a Letter from George for me
to deliver to Wylie — I shall see her and it before I

see you. The direction was in his best hand, written
with a good Pen and sealed with a Tassi[e]’s Shakes-
speare^ such as I gave you — ^We judge of people’s hearts
by their Countenances; may we not judge of Letters in
the same way? if so, the Letter does not contain un-
pleasant news — Good or bad spirits have an effect on
the handwriting. This direction is at least unnervous
and healthy. Our Sister is also well, or George would
have made strange work with Ks and Ws. The little
Baby is well or he would have formed precious vowels
and Consonants — He sent off the Letter in a hurry, or
the mail bag was rather a warm birth [j‘zV],or he has worn
out his Seal, for the Shakespeare’s head is flattened
a little. This is close muggy weather as they say at the
Ale houses —

I am, ever, my dear Sister

Yours affectionately

John Keats —

i6o. To Miss KEATS, Rd, Abbeys — Pancras Lane^
Queen Street, €hea[p]side.

Wentworth Place, Wednesday —
[Postmark, 22 December 1819.]

My dear Fanny,

I wrote to you a Letter directed Walthamstow the
day before yesterday wherein I promised to see you

^ ‘Douglas’, a tragedy by John Home (1724-1808).

^ See Letter 108 and note, p. 308.

486

January 1B20 Letter 161

before Christmas day. I am sorry to say I have been
and continue rather unwell, and therefore shall not be
able to promise certainly. I have not seen Wylie's
Letter. Excuse my dear Fanny this veiy^ shabby note.

Your affectionate Brother
John.

1 61. To GEORGIANA AUGUSTA KEATS.

Thursday Jany 13^^ 1820 —

My dear Sister.

By the time you receive this your troubles will be
over. I wish you knew they were half over. I mean

1 6 1 . This brilliant letter written to Keats’s brilliant sister-in-law
in America gave rise to some controversy, when the greater part of
it was published in the New York of the 25th of June 1877.

Lord Houghton had given a different version of a part of it from
Mr. Jeffrey’s transcript; but the grounds on which some students
doubted the genuineness of the Mler version were not very real.
In the Library edition I accepted the World version with revision,
and restored from No. 9 of The Pkilobiblon (New York, August
1862) a portion of which the manuscript had got astray — a portion
which internal evidence alone suffices to stamp as authentic. It is
the part from the new heading Friday to the end: Lord Hough-
ton had printed the last three lines wdth Mr. Jeffrey’s variations of
phrase. The correspondent of the World seemed to have used
Lord Houghton’s pages for ‘copy’ where a cursory examination
indicated that they gave the same matter as the original letter, —
transcribing what presented itself as new matter from the origirial.
The fragment of Friday was, on this supposition, in its place
when the copies were made for Lord Houghton, because there is
the close; but between that time and 1862 it must have been
separated from the letter, and got into the portfolio of the collector
who contributed it to The Philobiblon. Keats explains imder
the inaccurate and xmexplicit date Friday that he has been
writing a letter for George to take back to his wife, has unfortu-
nately forgotten to bring it to town, and will have to send it on
to Liverpool, whither G^oige had departed that morning ‘by the
coach,’ at six o’clock. The 27th of January 1820 was a lliursday,
not a Friday; and there can be hardly any doubt that George
Keats left London on the 28th of January 1820, because John, who
professed to know nothing of the days of the month, seems generally
to have known the days of the week; and this Friday cannot have
been in any other month: it was after the 15th of January, and

487 O 2

Letter i6i - January

that George is safe in England, and in good health. To
write to you by him is almost like following ones own
Letter in the Mail. That it may not be quite so I will
leave common intelligence out of the question and
write wide of him as I can. I fear I must be dull having
had no goodnatured flip from fortune’s finger since
I saw you and no side way comfort in the success of my
friends. I could almost promise that if I had the means
I would accompany George back to America and pay
you a Visit of a few Months. I should not think much
of the time or my absence from my Books, or I have no
right to tTiink, for I am very idle: but then I ought to be
diligent and at least keep myself within the reach of
materials for diligence. Diligence! that I do not mean
to say, I should say dreaming over my Books, or rather
other peoples Books. George has promised to bring you
to England when the five years have elapsed. I regret
very much that I shall not be able to see you before 3iat
time; and even then I must hope that your affairs will
be in so prosperous a way to induce you to stop longer.
Yours is a hardish fate to be so divided from yom:
friends and setded among a people you hate. You will
find it improve. You have a heart that will take hold
of yom: children. Even Georges absence will make
things better, his return will banish what must be your
greatest sorrow and at the same time minor ones with

before the i6th of February, on which day Keats wrote to Rice,
referring to his illness. Ultimately Mr. Speed published a still
fuller text in his selection — ^rejecting the passage from The Philo-
biblon 1 The present text is a repetition of that given in the
illustrated edition of 1895 — consolidated from the sources indicated
above, and revised, with the exception of the portion dated
January the 27th, from the print given from the holograph in the
catalogue of ‘Books and Letters Collected by William Harris
Arnold of New York,’ (The Marion Press, Jamaica, Queens-
borough. New York: 1901), for which was claimed ‘a degree of
accuracy not secured for it in any previous publication’. The
passage dated Friday s^th to the end of the letter is here printed
from the holograph in the possession of Dr. Rosenbach of
New York.

488

1^20 Letter i6i

it. Robinson Crusoe when he saw himself in danger of
perishing on the Waters look’d back to his island as to
the haven of his Happiness and on gaining it once more
was more content with his Solitude. We smoke George
about his little Girl, he runs the common beaten road
of every" father, as I dare say you do of every" Mother:
there is no Child like his Child, so original! original
forsooth How"ever I take you at your w"ords; I have
a lively faith that yours is the very gem of all children.
Ain’t I its unkle?

On Henryk’s Marriage there was a piece of Bride cake
sent me — ^it missed its way — I suppose the Carrier or
Coachman was a Conjuror, and wanted it for his own
private use. Last Sunday George and I dined at Millars.
There were your Mother and Charles with Fool Lacon
Esq^ who sent the sly disinterested shawl to Miss !Millar,
with his own heathen name^ engraved in the Middle.
Charles had a silk Handkerchief belonging to a Miss
Grover, with whom he pretended to be smitten and for
her sake kept exhibiting and adoring the Handkerchief
all the evening. Fool Lacon Esq^ treated it with a little
venturesome trembling contumely, w^hereupon Charles
set him quietly dowm on the floor, from where he as
quietly got up. This process was repeated at supper
time, when your Mother said, Tf I were you, M*" Lacon
I woxxld not let him do so’. Fool Lacon Esq^ did not
offer any remark. He will imdoubtedly die in his bed.
Your Mother did not look quite so well on Sunday.
M^s Henry Wylie is excessively quiet before people.
I hope she is always so. Yesterday we dined at Taylor’s,
in Fleet Street. George left early after dinner to go to
Deptford, He will make all square there for me. I
coiild not go with him. I did not like the amusement.
Haslam is a very good fellow indeed; he has been

* Gf. Letter 147, p. 469. Tool Lacon Esq^’ was probably
Charles Caleb Colton (i78o?~i832), author of ‘Lacon, or many
Things in few words addressed to those who think’, 1820. See
also reference on p. 491.

489

Letter i6i January

excessively anxious and kind to us. But is this fair ? He
has an innamorata at Deptford and he has been wanting
me for some time past to see her. This is a thing which
it is impossible not to shirk. A Man is like a Magnet,
he must have a repelling end — so how am I to see
Haslams lady and family, if I even went, for by the
time I got to Greenwich I should have repell’d them to
Blackheath and by the time I got to Deptford, they
would be on Shooters hiU, when I came to shooters
Hill, they would alight at Chatham and so on till I
drove them into the Sea, which I think might be indict-
able. The Evening before yesterday we had a piano
forte hop at Dilkes. There was very little amusement
in the room but a Scotchman to hate.' Some people
you must have observed have a most unpleasant effect
upon you when you see them speaking in profile — this
Scotchman is the most accomplished fellow in this way
I ever met with. The effect was complete. It went
down like a dose of bitters and I hope will improve my
digestion. At Taylor’s too, there was a Scotchman^ —
not quite so bad for he was as clean as he could get
himself. Not having succeeded in Drury Lane with our
Tragedy, we have been making some alterations and
are about to try Covent Garden. Brown has just done
patching up the Copy, as it is altered. The only
reliance I had on it was in Kean’s acting. I am not
afiraid it will be damn’d in the Garden. You said in
one of your letters that there was nothing but Haydon
and Co in mine.^ There can be nothing of him in this,
for I never see him or Co. George has introduced to us
an American of the Name of Hart. I like him in a
Moderate way. He was at M'® Dilke’s party; and

^ Dilke writes: ‘This I think must have been a Webster
who resided at Hampstead as a teacher and gave Wentworth
lessons,’

2 This might have been Allan Cunningham, or perhaps the
Thornton mentioned later in this letter.

3 Cf. Letter 147, p. 457.

490

i 820

Letter i6i

sitting by me, we began talking about english and
american ladies. The Aliss Reynolds and some of their
friends made not a very enticing row opposite us.
I bade him mark them and form his judgement of them.
I told him I hated Englishmen because they were the
only Men I knew. He does not understand this. Who
would be Bragadocio to Johnny Bull? Johnny’s house
is his Casde, and a precious dull casde it is. What
a many Bull Castles there are in So and so Crescent!
I never wish myself an universal \’isitor and news
monger but when I write to you. I should like for a day
or two to have somebody’s knowledge, Lacon’s for
instance of all the different folks of a wide acquaintance
to tell you about. Only let me have his knowledge of
family minutiae and I would set them in a proper light
but bless me I never go anywhere — my pen is no more
gar[r]ulous than my tongue — ^Any third person would
think I was addressing myself to a Lover of Scandal.
But we know we do not love scandal but fun, and if
scandal happens to be fun, that is no fault of ours.
There were very pretty pickings for me in Georges
letters about the Prairie Settlement, if I had any taste
to turn them to account in England. I knew a friend
of Miss Andrews yet I never mentioned her to him:
for after I had read the letter I really did not recol-
lect her story. Now I have been sitting here a half
hour with my invention at work, to say something
about your Mother or Charles or Henry but it is in
vain. I know not what to say. Three nights since
George went with your mother to the play. I hope she
will soon see mine acted. I do not remember ever to
have thanked you for your tassels^ to my Shakspeare —
there he hangs so ably supported opposite me. I thank
you now. It is a continual memento of you. If you
should have a Boy do not christen him John, and
persuade George not to let his partiality for me come
across- ’Tis a bad name, and goes against a man. If

* Gf. Letter 114, p. 321 and note.

491

Letter i6i January

my name had been Edmund I should have been more
fortunate.

I was surprised to hear of the State of Society at
Louisville, it seems you are just as ridiculous there as
we are here— threepenny parties, halfpenny Dances—
the best thing I have heard of is your shooting, for it
seems you follow the Gun. Give my Compliments to
Audubon and tell her I cannot think her either
good looking or honest. Tell M"" Audubon he ’s a fool—
and Briggs that ’tis well I was not A.

Saturday Jan?' 15 [1820] It is strange that George
having to stop so short a time in England I should not
have seen him for nearly two days. He has been to
Haslam’s and does not encourage me to follow his
example. He had given promise to dine with the same
party to-morrow, but has sent an excuse which I am
glad of as we shall have a pleasant party with us to-
morrow. We expect Charles here to-day. This is a
beautiful day: I hope you will not quarrel with it if
I call it an american one. The Sun comes upon the
snow and makes a prettier candy than we have on
twelfth[night] cakes. George is busy this morning in
making copies of my verses. He is making one now of
an Ode to the nightingale, which is like reading an
account of the black hole at Calcutta on an ice bergh.
You will say this is a matter of course, I am glad it is.

I mean that I should like your Brothers more, the more
I know them. I should spend much more time with
them if our lives were more run in parallel, but we can
talk but on one subject that is you. The more I know ^
of Men the more I know how to value entire liberality
in any of them. Thank God there are a great many
who will sacrifice their worldly interest for a friend: ^

I wish there were more who would sacrifice their pas- .

\ sions. The worst of men are those whose self interests :
lare their passion — the next those whose passions are
Ifheir self-interest. Upon the whole I dislike Mankind; ]
whatever people on the other side of the question may \

492 j

Letter i6i

advance they cannot deny that they are always sur-
prised at hearing of a good action and never of a bad
one. I am glad you have something [to] like in
America, Doves. Gertrude of Wyoming^ and Bir[k]-
beck’s book^ should be bound up together like a Brace
of Decoy Ducks — one is almost as poetical as the other.
Precious miserable people at the Prairie. I have been
sitting in the Sun while I wrote this till it became quite
oppressive, this is ver^^ odd for January. The \Tilcan
fire is the true natural heat for winter. The Sun has
nothing to do in winter but to give a little glooming
light much like [a] shade.^ Our Irish serv’ ant has piqued
me this morning by saying that her Father in Ireland
is very much like my Shakespeare^ only he had more
colour than the Engraving. You will find on Georges
return that I have not been neglecting your affairs.
The delay was unfortunate, not faulty; — perhaps by
this time you have received my three last letters^ not one
of which had reach’d before George sail’d. I would
give two pence to have been over the world as much as
he has. I wish I had money enough to do nothing but
travel about for years. Were you now in England I
dare say you would be able (setting aside the pleasure
you would have in seeing your mother) to suck out more
amusement for \_for from] Society than I am able to do.
To me it is all as dull here as Louisville could be. I am
tired of the Theatres. Almost all parties I may chance

* Thomas Campbell’s ‘Cxertrude of Wyoming’, published 1809.

^ Morris Birkb^’s ‘Notes on a Journey in America, from the
Coast of Virginia to the Territory of Illinois’, reviewed in the same
number of ‘The Quarterly Review’ as ‘Endymion’ (No. 37,
published in September 1818).

3 Spenser, ‘Faerie Queene’, i, i, 14. 5.

^ Probably this refers to the portrait given to him by his land-
lady at Carisbrooke in 1817, and hung with tassels to it, already
mentioned on p. 491. But it may possibly be the portrait in the
folio of 1808, a book which Keats possessed, — 2 l print copied from
that by Martin Droeshout in the folio of 1623.

3 Letters 93, 114, and 147.

493

Letter i6i January

to fall into I know by heart. I know the different styles
of talk in different places, what subjects will be started
how it will proceed, like an acted play, from the first
to the last act. If I go to Hunt’s, I run my head into
many times heard puns and music. To Haydon’s worn
out discourses of poetry and painting. The Miss Rey-
nolds I am afraid to speak to for fear of some sickly
reiteration of Phrase or Sentiment. When they were
at the dance the other night I tried manfully to sit
near and talk to them, but to no purpose, and if I had
’t would have been to no purpose s^l. My question
or observation must have been an old one, and the
rejoinder very antique indeed. At Dilke’s I fkll foul of
Politics. ’Tis best to remain aloof from people and like
their good parts without being eternally troubled with
the dull process of their every day Lives. When once
a person has smok’d the vapidness of the routine of
Society he must either have self interest or the love of
some sort of distinction to keep him in good humour
with it. All I can say is that standing at Charing Cross
and looking east west north and south I see nothing but
dulness. I hope while I am young to live retired in the
country, when I grow in years and have a right to be
idle, I shall enjoy cities more. If the American Ladies
are worse than the English they must be very bad.
You say you should like your Emily brought up here.
You had better bring her up yourself. You know a good
number of english ladies [ — ^]what encomium could you
give of half a dozen of them. The greater part seem to
me downright American. I have known more than one
M"^ Audubon. Their affectation of fashion and polite-
ness cannot transcend ours. Look at our Cheapside
Tradesmens sons and daughters — only fit to be taken off
by a plague. I hope now soon to come to the time when
I shall never be forced to walk through the City and
hate as I walk.

Monday^ Jan^ ij [zS^o.] George had a quick re-
joinder to his Letter of excuse to Haslam, so we

494

Letter i6i

had not his company yesterday which I was sorry- for
as there was our old set. I know three witty people
all distinct in their excellence — Rice^ Reynolds and
Richards.^ Rice is the wisest, Reynolds the play-
fuUest, Richards the out-o’-the-wayest. The first
makes you laugh and think, the second makes you
laugh and not think, the third puzzles your head. I
admire the first, I enjoy the second, I stare at the third.
The first is Claret, the second Ginger-beer, the third
Creme de Byrapymdrag. The first is inspired by
Minerva, the second by Mercury, the third by Harle-
quin Epigram, Esq^. The first is neat in his dress, the
second slovenly, the third uncomfortable. The first
speaks adagio, the second allegretto, the third b6th
together. The first is swiftean, the second Tom
cribean,^ the third Shandean — and yet these three Eans
are not three Eans but one Ean.

Charles came on Saturday but went early: he seems
to have schemes and plans and wants to get off. He is
quite right, I am glad to see him employed at business.
You remember I wrote you a Stoiy’ about a woman
named Alice^ being made young again — or some such
stuff. In your next Letter tell me whether I gave it as
my own or whether I gave it as a matter Browm was
employed upon at the time. He read it over to George
the other day, and George said he had heard it all
before. So Brown suspects I have been giving you his
Story as my own. I should like to set him right in it by
your Evidence. George has not returned from Town[:]

* Possibly G. Richards, the printer, see note to Letter 7, or
Thomas Richards of the Storekeeper’s Office of the Ordnance
Department in the Tower and of 9 Providence (or Sydney) Place,
who was executor to the will of Charles Bro\vTi and guardian to
his son. There is an extant copy of Keats’s Poems (1817) inscribed,
in Keats’s writing, to his friend Thomas Richards. —

- Thomas Moore’s ‘Tom Grib’s Memorial to Congress, with
a Preface, Notes, and an Appendix, by one of the Fancy’ (1819).

3 Presumably the name of the old woman referred to in the
passage about a story of Brown’s. (See Letter 1 14, p. 320.)

495

Letter i6i January

when he does I shall tax his memory. We had a young,
long, raw, lean Scotchman with us yesterday caUd
Thornton. Rice, for fun or for mistake would persist in
calling him Stevenson. I know three people of no wit
at all, each distinct in his excellence. A, B, and C. A is
the foolishest, B the sulkiest, C is a negative. A makes
you yawn, B makes you hate, as for C you never see
him though he is six feet high. I bear the first, I for-
bear the second I am not certain that the third is.
The first is gruel, the second Ditch water, the third is
spilt — he ought to be wiped up. A is inspired by Jack-

o’ the-clock — B, has been drill’d by a russian serjeant

C — they say is not his Mothers true child but that she
bought him of the Man who cries. Young lambs to sell.
Twang dillo dee[.] This you must know is the Amen to
nonsense. I know a good many places where Amen
should be scratched out, rubbd over with po[u]nce
made of Momus’s little :^ger bones and in its place
Twang-dillo-dee written. This is the word I shafi hence-
forth be tempted to write at the end of most modem
Poems. Every American Book ought to have it. It
would be a good distinction in Society. My Lords
Wellington, Castlereagh and Canning and many more
would do well to wear Twang-dillo dee on their Backs
instead of ribbons at their Button holes. How many
people would go sfde {for side] ways along walls and
quickset hedges to keep their Twang-dillo-dee out ofsight,
or wear large pig-tails to hide it. However there would
be so m^y that the Twang diUo dees would keep one
another in Countenance — ^which Brown cannot do for
me— I have fallen away lately. Thieves and Murderers
would gain rank in the world, for would any one of them
have the poorness of spirit to condescend to be a Twang
dillo dee? T have robbed many a dwelling-house, I
have killed many a fowl many a goose and many a Man
(would such a gentleman say) but thank heaven I was
never yet a Twang dUlo dee.’ Some philosophers in the
Moon, who spy at our Globe as we do at theirs, say that

496

Letter i6i

Twang dillo dee is WTitten in large letters on our Globe
of Earth, They say the beginning of the T is just on the
spot where London stands. London being built within
the Flourish — w a n reach do^vn and slant as far a[s]
Timbuctoo in Africa, the tail of the G goes slap across
the Atlantic into the Rio della Plata— the remainder
of the letters wrap round New Holland, and the last e
terminates on land we have not yet discovered. How^-
ever, I must be silent; these are dangerous times to libel
a man in, much more a world.

Friday 27^^- [28 January 1820]. I w^ish you would
call me names. I deseive them so much. I have only
written two sheets for you, to carry by George and
those I forgot to bring to town and have therefore to
forward them to Liverpool. [George] went this morning
at 6 oClock by the Liverpool Coach. EQs being on his
journey to you, prevents me regret[t]ing his short stay.
I have no news of any sort to tell you. Henry is wife-
bound in Cambden Town, there is no getting him out.
I am sorry he has not a prettier wife: indeed ’tis a shame:
she is not half a wife. I think I cotild find some of her
relations in BufFon, or Capt“ Cook’s voyages, or the
hiero^tz^glyphics in Moors almanack, or upon a Chinese
Clock door, the shepherdesses on her own mantlepiece,
or in a cruel sampler in which she may find herself
worsted, or in a dutch toy shop windown [i'zV], or one
of the Daughters in the Ark,^ or in any picture shop
window. As I intend to retire into the Country where
there will be no sort of news, I shall not be able to write
you very long Letters — ^Besides I am affraid the Postage
comes to too much; which till now I have not been
aware of. We had a fine Packing up at \tor 7 i\ things I
saw \torri\

People in milatary [jfr] Bands are generally seriously
occupied — none may or can laugh at their work but

* It would seem from this description that Mr. Henry Wylie was
constant to his preference for the yoxmg lady described by Keats
nearly a year before. See Letter 1 14, p. 334.

497

Letter 1 62 February

the Kettle Drum — Long drum, D° Triangle, and
Cymbals — Thinking you might want a Ratcatcher I put
your mother’s old quaker-colour’d Cat into the top of
your bonnet — she’s wi’ kitten, so you may expect to
find a whole family — I hope the family will not grow
too large for its Lodging. I shall send you a close written
sheet on the first of next Month but for fear of missing
the Liverpool Post I must finish here. God bless you
and \torri\ little Girl.

Your affectionate Brother

John Keats —

162. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, 4 February 1820?]

Dearest Fanny, I shall send this the moment you
return. They say I must remain confined to this room
for some time. The consciousness that you love me will
make a pleasant prison of the house next to yours. You
must come and see me frequently: this evening, without
fail — ^when you must not mind about my speaking in
a low tone for I am ordered to do so though I can
speak out.

Yours ever

sweetest love. —

J. Keats.

turn over

Perhaps your Mother is not at home and so you must
wait till she comes. You must see me to-night and let
me j iave - hear you promise to come to-morrow.

Brown told me you were all out. I have been looking
for the stage the whole afternoon. Had I known this
I coiild not have remain’d so silent all day.

162, This and later letters to Fanny Brawne up to No. 195 seem
to have been written at Brown’s house in Wentworth Place and
t^en next door by hand. This one was probably written the day
after Keats was taken ill.

498

^^20 Letter 163

163. To Miss KEATS5 Rd, Abbey Pancras Lane, Queen

Street, Cheapside,

Wentworth Place Sunday Morning.
My dear Sister, \Postmark, 7 Februan;^ 1820.]

I should not have sent those Letters without some
notice if Brown had not persuaded me against it on
account of an illness with w^hich I w’as attack’d on Thurs-
day. After that I was resolved not to write till I should
be on the mending hand: thank God, I am now so.
From imprudently leaving off my great coat in the thaw
I caught cold which flew to my Lungs. Every remedy
that has been applied has taken the desired effect, and
I have nothing now to do but stay within doors for
some time. If I should be confined long I shall write to
M"* Abbey to ask permission for you to visit me. George
has been nmning great chance of a similar attack, but
I hope the sea air will be his Physician in case of illness
— the air out at sea is always more temperate than on
land. George mention’d, in his Letters to us, some-
thing of Abbey’s regret concerning the silence kept
up in his house. It is entirely the fault of his Manner.
You must be careful always to wear warm cloathing not
only in frost but in a Thaw. — I have no new^s to tell you.
The half built houses opposite us stand just as they were
and seem dying of old age before they are brought up.
The grass looks very dingy, the Celery is all gone, and
there is nothing to enliven one but a few Cabbage
Sta[l]ks that seem fix’d on the superan[n]uated List.

Dilke has been ill but is better. Several of my
friends have been to see me. M” Reynolds was here
this morning and the two Wylie’s. Brown has been
very alert about me, though a litde wheezy himself this
weather. Every body is ill. Yesterday evening
Davenport, a gentleman of hampstead sent me an

163. Thursday the 3rd of February 1820 was the date upon
which Keats was taken ill; and by Sunday the 6th he was writing
this letter to his sister.

499

Letter 164 February

invitation to supper, instead of his coming to see us
having so bad a cold he could not stir out — so you [see]
tis the weather and I am among a thousand. Whenever
you have an inflam [mjatory fever never mind about
eating. The day on which I was getting ill I felt this
fever to a great height, and therefore almost entirely
abstained from food the whole day. I have no doubt
experienc’d a benefit from so doing — The Papers I see
are full of anecdotes of the late King^: how he nodded
to a Coal heaver and laugh’d with a Quaker and lik’d
boil’d Leg of Mutton. Old Peter Pindar is just dead:
what will the old King and he say to each other?
Perhaps the King may confess that Peter was in the
right, and Peter maintain himself to have been wrong.
You shall hear from me again on tuesday.

Your affectionate Brother
John.

1 64. To Miss FANNYi KEATS, Abbey Pancras Lane^

Queen Street^ Cheapside.

Wentworth Place, Tuesday mom
[8 February 1820. Postmark, 9 February 1820.]
My dear Fanny —

I had a slight return of fever last night, which termi-
nated favourably, and I am now tolerably well, though
weak from [the] small quantity of food to which I am
obliged to confine myself: I am sure a mouse would
starve upon it. M^® Wyhe came yesterday. I have a
very pleasant room for a sick person. A Sopha bed is
made up for me in the front Parlour which looks on to
the grass plot as you remember M^® Dilke’s does. How
much more conifortable than a dull room upstairs,
where one gets tired of the pattern of the bed curtains.
Besides I see all that passes — ^for instance now, this
morning — ^if I had been in my own room I should not
have seen the coals brought in. On Sunday between

^George III died on the 29th of January 1820. Dr. Wolcot had
died over a year before that date, on the 14th ofjanuary 1819.

500

Letter 165

tJie hours of twelve and one I descried a Pot boy. I con-
jectured it might be the one o’clock beer— Old women
with bobbins and red cloaks and unpresuming bonnets
I see creeping about the heath. Gipseys after hare skins
and silver spoons. Then goes by a fellow with a wooden
clock under his arm that strikes a hundred and more.
Then comes the old french^ emigrant (who has been
very well to do in france) with his hands joined behind
on his hips, and his face full of political schemes. Then
passes David Lewis, a very good-natured, good-
looking old gentleman whas [ybrwho] has been very kind
to Tom and George and me. As for those fellows the
Brickmakers they are always passing to and fro. I mus’n’t
forget the two old maiden Ladies in Well Walk who
have a Lap dog between them that they are very
anxious about. It is a corpulent Little Beast whom it is
necessary to coax along with an ivory-tipp’d cane.
Carlo our Neighbour M” Brawne’s dog and it meet
sometiines. Lappy thinks Carlo a de\il of a fellow and
so do his ^Mistresses. Well they may — he would sweep
’ena all down at a run; all for the Joke of it. I shall
desire him to peruse the fable of the Boys and the frogs:
though he prefers the tongues and the Bones. You
shall hear from me again the day after to-morrow —
Your affectionate Brother

John Keats

165. Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, 10 February 1820?]

My dearest Girl,

If illness makes such an agreeable variety in the
manner of your eyes I should wish you sometimes to be
ill. I wish I had read your note before you went last
night that I might have assured you how far I was from
suspecting any coldness. You had a just right to be
a little silent to one who speaks so plainly to you. You
must believe— you shall, you will — that I can do

^ See note to Letter 132, p. 399.
II 501

P

Letter i66 February

nothing, say nothing, think nothing of you but what
has its spring in the Love which has so long been my '

pleasure and torment. On the night I was taken ill '

when so violent a rush of blood came to my Lungs that
I felt nearly suffocated — I assure you I felt it possible
I might not survive, and at that moment though[t] of
nothing but you. When I said to Brown ‘this is unfor-
tunate’ ' I thought of you. ’Tis true that since the first
two or three days other subjects have entered my head.^

I shall be looking forward to Health and the Spring and
a regular routine of our old Walks.

Your affectionate

J. K.

i66. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, February 1820?]

My sweet love, I shall wait patiently till to-morrow
before I see you, and in the mean time, if there is any
need of such a thing, assure you by your Beauty, that
whenever I have at any time written on a certain un-
pleasant subject, it has been with your welfare impress’d
upon my mind. How hurt I should have been had you
ever acceded to what is, notwithstanding, very reason-
able! How much the more do I love you from the
general result! In my present state of Health I feel too
much separated from you and could almost speak to you
in the words of Lorenzo’s Ghost to Isabella

Your Beauty grows upon me and I feel
A greater love through all my essence steal.^

' It may be that consideration for his correspondent
ths moderation of speech: presumably the scene here referred to is
that so graphically given by Lord Houghton who records, not that
he merely 'felt it possible’ he ‘might not survive’, but that he
smd to his friend, ‘I know the colour of that blood,— it is arterial
blood— I cannot be deceived in that colour; that drop is my death-
warrant. I must die.*

» sentence indicates the lapse of perhaps about a week
from the 3rd of February 1820. 3 ‘Isabella’, xl, 7-8.

502

Letter 167

My greatest torment since I have known you has been
the fear of you being a little inclined to the Cressid;' but
that suspicion I dismiss utterly and remain happy in the
surety of your Love^ w^hich I assure you is as much a
wonder to me as a delight. Send me the words 'Good
night’ to put under my pillow.

Dearest Fanny^

Your affectionate
J. K,

167. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esq^^, Parwras Lane^ Queen
Street^ Cheapside.

Wentworth Place [Postmark^ ii February 1820.=]

My dear Fanny,

I am much the same as when I last wrote. I hope
a little more verging towards improvement. Yesterday

^ C 3 f. ‘Troilus and Cressida’, m. ii. 203, see Letter 212, p. 546.

* On the same day Brown wrote to ‘Master Henry Snook, at
Lord’s Academy, Tooting, Surrey,’ a letter from which the
following passage is extracted as ha\ing a certain value in con-
nexion with Keats’s story: — Keats fell ver>^ ill yesterday week,
and my office of head Nurse has too much employed me to allow
of my answering your letter immediately; he is somewhat better,
but I’m in a very anxious state about him. — I was in hopes of you
and Jack being able, during Easter, to go to the Theatre to witness
our Tragedy; but no, — at Drury Lane they engaged to play it next
Season, and I, not liking the delay, took it home. — Here, to
amuse myself, I began to copy some of my favorite Hogarth’s
heads; they were in Indian ink as usual; when Severn (I think
you know him) put me on another plan, and I hope to succeed.
I must tell you about M Severn, whether you know him or not:
he is a young Artist, who lately strove with his fellow students for
a gold medal, which the Royal Academy gives annually for the
best historical painting; the subject was fixed to be the Gave of
Despair as described in Spencer’s poem; it was Severn’s second
attempt in oil colours, and therefore it might have been supposed
he stood no chance of success, and yet he won it! — it has been so
much approved of that he will have his expenses paid for three
years during his travels on the Continent, and his Majesty is to
furnish him with letters of recommendation. What think you of
this? I tell it you as a proof there is still some good rew^ard in the
world for superior talent; now and then a man of talent is dis-
regarded, but it is an error to believe that such is the common

503

P 2

Letter i68 February

morning being very fine, I took a walk for a quarter of
an hour in the garden and was very much refresh’d by
it. You must consider no news, good news — ^if you do
not hear from me the day after tomorrow—

Your affectionate Brother

John

1 68. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esq^^ Pancras Lane, Queen
Cheapside,

Wentworth Place.

Monday Morn — [Postmark, 14 February 1820.]
My dear Fanny,

I am improving but very gradually and suspect it
will be a long while before I shall be able to walk six
miles — ^Thc Sun appears half inclined to shine; if he
obliges us I shall take a turn in the garden this morning.
No one from Town has visited me since my last. I have
had so many presents of jam and jellies that they would
reach side by side the length of the sideboard. I hope
I shall be weU before it is all consumed. I am vex’d that
M^ Abbey will not allow you pocket money sufficient.
He has not behaved well — ^By detaining money from
me and George when we most wanted it he has in-
creased our expences. In consequence of such delay
George was obliged to take his voyage to england
which will be ^^150 out of his Pocket. I enclose you
a Note — ^You shall hear from me again the day after
tomorrow.

Your affectionate Brother

John

169. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, February 1820?]

My dearest Girl,

According to all appearances I am to be separated
from you as much as possible. How I shall be able to

fate of true desert. This does not apply solely to genius in the arts,
but to you and me and all of us, as to our general character and
capability.’

504

iSso Letter 170

bear it, or whether it will not be worse than vour
presence now and then, I cannot tell. I must be patient,
and in the mean time you must think of it as little as
possible. Let me not longer detain you from going to
Town — there may be no end to this imprisoning of you.
Perhaps you had better not come before tomorrow
evening: send me however without fail a good night.

You know our situation — ^what hope is there if I
should be recovered ever so soon — my very health with
[for will] not suffer me to make any great exertion.
I am recommended not even to read poetry, much less
write it. I wish I had even a little hope. I cannot say
forget me — but I would mention that there are impossi-
bilities in the world. No more of this. I am not strong
enough to be weaned — take no notice of it in your good
night.

Happen what may I shall ever be my dearest Love

Your affectionate

J. K.

170. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, February 1820?]

My dearest Girl, how could it ever have been my
wish to forget you? how could I have said such a thing?
The utmost stretch my mind has been capable of was to
endeavour to forget you for your own sake seeing what
a change [for chance] there was of my remaining in
a precarious state of health. I would have borne it as
I would bear death if fate was in that humour: but I
should as soon think of choosing to die as to part from
you. Believe too my Love that our friends think and
speak for the best, and if their best is not our best it is
not their fault. When I am better I will speak with you
at large on these subjects, if there is any occasion —
I think there is none. I am rather nervous today
perhaps from being a little recovered and suffering my
mind to take little excursions beyond the doors and
windows. I take it for a good sign, but as it must not

505

Letter 171 February

be encouraged you had better delay seeing me till to-
morrow. Do not take the trouble of writing much:
merely send me my good night.

Remember me to your Mother and Margaret.

Your affectionate
J. K.

1 7 1 . To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, February 1820?]

My dearest Fanny,

Then all we have to do is to be patient. Whatever
violence I may sometimes do myself by hinting at what
would appear to any one but ourselves a matter of
necessity, I do not think I could bear any approach of
a thought of losing you. I slept well last night, but can-
not say that I improve very fast. I shall expect you
tomorrow, for it is certainly better that I should see you
seldom. Let me have your good night.

Your affectionate
J. K.

172. To JAMES RICE.

Wentworth Place Monday Morn:

{Postmark^ 16 Feb. 1820.]

My dear Rice,

I have not been well enough to make any tolerable
rejoinder to your kind Letter. I will as you advise be
very chary of my health and spirits. I am sorry to hear
of your relapse and hypochondriac symptoms attending
it. Let us hope for the best as you say. I shall follow

1 7 1 . Friends both of Keats and Miss Brawne naturally regarded
the engagement as an imprudent one from the first; and the entire
break-down of the poet’s health must have brought all possible
prudential considerations home very poignantly to his own mind
as well as the minds of his friends. Some hint beyond what is
expressed in the last letter had perhaps fallen from Keats in con
versation, — some hi n t of readiness at all costs to release Miss
Brawne from her engagement if she on her part were prepared to
follow prudent counsels and accept such release.

506 ,-■

iSso Letter 172

your example in looking to the future good rather than
brooding upon present ill. I have not been so worn
with lengthen'd illnesses as you have therefore cannot
answer you on your own ground with respect to those
haunting and deformed thoughts and feelings you
speak of. When I have been or supposed myself in
health I have had my share of them, especially wthin
this last year. I may say that for 6 Months before I
was taken ill I had not passed a tranquil day. Either
that gloom overspre[a]d me or I was suffering under
some passionate feeling, or if I turn'd to versify that
acerbated the poison of either sensation. The Beauties
of Nature had lost their power over me. How astonish-
ingly (here I must premise that illness as far as I can
judge in so short a time has relieved my Mind of a load
of deceptive thoughts and images and makes me per- ^
ceive things in a truer light) — How astonishingly does 4
the chance of leaving the world impress a sense of its -
natural beauties on us. Like poor Falstaff, though „

I do not babble, I think of green fields.^ I muse with
the greatest affection on every flower I have knowm ,
from my infancy — their shapes and coulours are as ^ new
to me as if I had just created them with a superhuman
fancy. It is because they are connected with the most
thoughtless and happiest moments of our Lives. I have J
seen foreign flowers in hothouses of the most beautiful ^
nature, but I do not care a straw for them. The simple
flowers of our spring are what I want to see agaiu.

Brown has left the inventive and taken to the
imitative art — he is doing his forte which is copying
Hogarth's heads. He has just made a purchace of the
mediodist meeting Picture,^ which gave me a horrid
dream a few nights ago. I hope I shall sit under the
trees with you again in some such place as the isle of
Wight. I do not mind a game of cards in a saw pit or

* Gf. ‘Henry n. iii. 17. ^ Keats wrote ‘as are’.

3 Hcgarth’s ‘Credulity, Superstition, and Fanaticism: a Medley’
(1762).

507

Letter 173 February

waggon; but if ever you catch me on a stage coach in
the winter full against the wind bring me down with
a brace of bullets and I promise not to ’peach. Re-
[me]mber me to Reynolds and say how much I should
like to hear from him: that Brown returned immediately
after he went on Sunday, and that I was vex’d at for-
getting to ask him to lunch for as he went towards the
gate I saw he was fatigued and hungry.

I am

my dear Rice,

ever most sincer[e]ly yours

John Keats

I have broken this open to let you know I was sur-
prised at seeing it on the table this morning, thinking
it had gone long ago

173. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esg’’^ Pancras Lane, Queen S*
Cheapside.

[Postmark, 19 February 1820.]

My dear Fanny,

Being confined almost entirely to vegetable food and
the weather being at the same time so much against me,
I cannot say I have much improved since I wrote last.
The Doctor tells me there are no dangerous Symptoms
about me and that qmetness of mind and fine weather
wUl restore me. Mind my advice to be very careful to
wear warm cloathing in a thaw. I will write again on
Tuesday when I hope to send you good news.

Your affectionale Brother
John —

174. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, February 1820?]

My dearest Fanny,

I read your note in bed last night, and that might be
the reason of my sleeping so much better. I think

508

Letter 175

Brown is right in supposing you may stop too long
with me, so very nerv^ous as I am. Send me everv
evening a written Good night. If you come for a few
minutes about six it may be the best time. Should you
ever fancy me too low-spirited I must warn you to
ascribe it to the medicine I am at present taking which
is of a ner\^e-shaking nature. I shall impute any depres-
sion I may experience to this cause. I have been writing
with a vile old pen the whole week, which is excessively
ungallant. The fault is in the Quill: I have mended it
and still it is very much inclin’d to make blind es.
However these last lines are in a much better style of
penmanship, thof a little disfigured by the smear of
black currant jelly; which has made a litde mark on one
of the Pages of Brown’s Ben Jonson, the very best book
he has. I have lick’d it but it remains very purplue. I
did not know whether to say purple or blue so in the
mixture of the thought wrote purplue which may be an
excellent name for a colour made up of those two, and
would suit well to start next spring. Be very careful of
open doors and windows and going without your duffle
grey. God bless you Love !

J. Keats.

P.S. I am sitting in the back room. Remember me
to your Mother.

175. Tb Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, February 1820?]

My dear Fanny,

Do not let your mother suppose that you hurt me by
writing at night. For some reason or other your last
night’s note was not so treasureable as former ones.
I would fain that you call me Love still. To see you
happy and in high spirits^ is a great consolation to me —

^ Miss Brawne had much natural pride and buoyancy, and was
quite capable of affecting higher spirits and less concern than she
really felt. But as to the genuineness of her attachment to Keats
some of those who knew her personally have no doubt whatever.

509

Letter 1 76 February

still let me believe that you are not half so happy as my
restoration would make you. I am nervous^ I own, and
may think myself worse than I really am; if so you must
indulge me, and pamper with that sort of tenderness
you have manifested towards me in different Letters.
My sweet creature when I look back upon the pains and
torments I have suffer’d for you from the day I left you
to go to the isle of Wight; the extasies in which I have
pass’d some days and the miseries in their turn, I
wonder the more at the Beauty which has kept up the
spell so fervently. When I send this round I shall be in
the front parlour watching to see you show yourself for
a minute in the garden. How illness stands as a barrier

betwixt me and you! Even if I was well 1 must

make myself as good a Philosopher as possible. Now
I have had opportunities of passing nights anxious and
awake I have found other thoughts intrude upon me.
'If I should die,’ said I to myself, 'I have left no im- ^
mortal work behind me — ^nothing to make my friends ^
proud of my memory — ^but I have lov’d the principle of
beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have v
made myself remember’d.’ Thoughts like these came
very feebly whilst I was in health and every pulse beat
for you — ^now you divide with this (may I say it?) 'last
ini&rmity of noble minds’^ all my reflection.

God bless you. Love.

J. Keats.

1 76. To FANNY BRAWNE, addressed to 'M^s BRAWNE’.

[Wentworth Place, February 1820?]

My dearest Girl,

You spoke of having been unwell in your last note:
have you recover’d? That note has been a great delight
to me. I am stronger than I was: the Doctors say there
is very little the matter with me, but I cannot believe
them till the weight and tightness of my Chest is miti-
gated. I will not indulge or pain myself by complaining

^ See Xycidas’, 1 . 71.

510

^^20 Letter 177

of my long separation from you. God alone knows
whether I am destined to taste of happiness with you:
at all events I myself know thus much, that I consider
it no mean Happiness to have lov’d you thus far — if it is
to be no further I shall not be unthankful — ^if I am to
recover, the day of my recover^’ shall see me by your
side from which nothing shall separate me. If well you
are the only medicine that can keep me so. Perhaps,
aye surely, I am writing in too depress’d a state of mind
— ask your Mother to come and see me — she will bring
you a better account than mine.

Ever your affectionate
John Keats.

177. To JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS.

[Postmark, 23 or 25 February 1820.]

My dear Reynolds,

I have been improving since you saw me: my nights
are better which I think is a very encouraging thing.
You mention your cold in rather too slighting a manner
— if you travel outside have some flannel against the
wind — ^which I hope will not keep on at this rate when
you are in the Packet boat. Should it rain do not stop
upon deck though the Passengers should vomit them-
selves inside out. Keep xmder Hatches from all sort of
wet.

I am pretty well provided with Books at present,
when you return I may give you a commission or two.
M"" B. C.^ has sent me not only his Sicilian Story but
yesterday his Dramatic Scenes — this is very polite and
I shall do what I can to make him sensible I think so.

^ *Bany Cornwall’, Bryan Waller Procter (1787-1874):
‘Dramatic Scenes^, ‘Marcian Golonna’ and ‘A Sicilian

Story’, 1820, &c. Keats wrote of this attention of Procter’s both
to Fanny Brawne and to Dilke; but he seems to have reser\’ed for
his intimate kindred spirit Reynolds his estimate of the merits
of Procter’s books, while sharing between Reynolds and others his
appreciation of the author’s politeness.

511

Letter 1 78 February

I confess they teaze me — ^they are composed of amia-
bility, the Seasons, the Leaves, the Moon &c. upon
which he rings (according to Hunt’s expression) triple
bob majors. However that is nothing — I think he likes
poetry for its own sake, not his. I hope I shall soon be
well enough to proceed with my fa[e]ries^ and set you
about the notes on Sundays and Stray-days. If I had
been well enough I should have liked to cross the water
'vvith you. Brown wishes you a pleasant voyage — Have
fish for dinner at the sea ports, and don’t forget a bottle
of Claret. You will not meet with so much to hate at
Brussels as at Paris. Remember me to all my friends.
If I were well enough I would paraphrase an ode of
Horace’s for you, on your embarking in the seventy
years ago style. The Packet will bear a comparison with
a Roman galley at any rate.

Ever yours affectionately

J. Keats

178. Tb Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, 524 February 1820?]

My dearest Girl,

Indeed I will not deceive you with respect to my
health. This is the fact as far as I know. I have been
confined three weeks and am not yet well — this proves
that there is something wrong about me which my con-
stitution will either conquer or give way to. Let us hope
for the best. Do you hear the Thrush singing over the
field? I think it is a sign of mild weather — ^so much the
better for me. Like all Sinners now I am jU I philoso-
phize, aye out of my attachment to every thing, Trees,
flowers, Thrushes, Spring, Summer, Claret, &c. &c.—
aye every thing but you.— My sister would be glad of
my company a little longer. That Thrush is a fine
fellow. I hope he was fortunate in his choice this year.

^ i.e. ‘The Cap and Bells\

512

jSso Letter 1 79

Do not send any more of my Books home. I have a
great pleasure in the thought of you looking on them.

Ever yours

mv sweet Fanny

J.K.

179. To Miss KEATS, Abbefs Esq^^ Walthamstow.

Wentw^orth Place, Thursday [24 February 1820].

\Postmarky 25 February 1820.]

My dear Fanny,

I am sorry to hear you have been so unwell: now you
are better, keep so. Remember to be veiy^ careful of
your cloathing — this climate requires the utmost care.
There has been very little alteration in me lately. I am
much the same as when I wrote last. When I am well
enough to return to my old diet I shall get stronger. If
my recovery should be delay’d long I will ask Abbey
to let you visit me — Keep up your Spirits as well as you
can. You shall hear soon again from me —

Your affectionate Brother

John—

180. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, 25 February 1820?]
My dearest Fanny,

I had a better night last night than I have had since
my attack, and this morning I am the same as when you
saw me. I have been turning over two volumes of
Letters written between Rousseau and two Ladies in the
perplexed strain of mingled finesse and sentiment in
which the Ladies and gentlemen of those days were so
clever, and which is still prevalent among Laies of this
Coimtry who live in a state of re[a]sonmg romance.
The likeness however only extends to the mannerism,
not to the dexterity. What would Rousseau have said at
seeing our little correspondence!^ What would his
Ladies have said! I don’t care much — I would sooner
have Shakspeare’s opinion about the matter. The

I Gf. Letter 125.

Letter i8i February

common gossiping of washerwomen must be less dis-
gusting than the continual and eternal fence and attack
of Rousseau and these sublime Petticoats. One calls her-
self Clara and her friend Julia, two of Ro[u]sseau’s
heroines — they all [/or at] the same time christen
poor Jean Jacques St. Preux— who is the pure cavalier
of his famous novel. Thank God I am born in England
with our own great Men before my eyes. Thank God
that you are fair and can love me without being Letter-
written and sentimentaliz’d into it. — Barry Com-
walP has sent me another Book, his first, with a polite
note. I must do what I can to make him sensible of the
esteem I have for his kindness. If this north east would
take a turn it would be so much the better for me.
Good bye, my love, my dear love, my beauty —

love me for ever.

J. K.

181. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, February 1820?]

My dearest Girl,

I continue much the same as usual, I think a little
better. My spirits are better also, and consequently I
am more resign’d to my confinement. I dare not think
of you much orwrite much to you. Remember me to all.

Ever your affectionate

John Keats.

182. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, February 1820?]

My dear Fanny,

I think you had better not make any long stay with
me when M^ Brown is at home. Whenever he goes out
you may bring your work. You will have a pleasant
walk to-day. I shall see you pass. I shall follow you
with my eyes over the Heath. Will you come towards

^ The reference to Barry Cornwall indicates that this letter was
written about the 23rd or 25th of February 1820; for to Reynolds
(see Letter 177) Keats recounts this same affair of Procter’s first
book as having happened ‘yesterday’.

514

^^20 Letter 183

evening instead of before dinner? When you are gone,
tis past — ^if you do not come till the evening I ha\'e
something to look forward to all day. Come round to
my window for a moment when you ha\’e read this.
Thank your Mother, for the preserves, for me. The
raspberry will be too sweet not ha\dng any acid; there-
fore as you are so good a girl I shall make you a present
of it. Good bye

My sweet Love !

J. Keats.

183. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place February 1820?]

My dearest Fanny,

The power of your benediction is of not so weak a
nature as to pass from the ring in four and twenty hours
— ^it is like a sacred Chalice once consecrated and ever
consecrate. I shall kiss your name and mine where
your Lips have been — Lips! why should a poor prisoner
as I am talk about such things? Thank God, though
I hold them the dearest pleasures in the universe, I have
a consolation independent of them in the certainty of
your affection. I could write a song in the style of Tom
Moore’s Pathetic about Memory^ if that would be any

I Probably the following:

There ’s not a look, a word of thine
My soul hath e’er forgot;

Thou ne’er hast bid a ringlet shine,

Nor given thy locks one graceful twine,

Which I remember not !

There never yet a murmur fell
From that beguiling tongue,

Which did not, with a lingering spell.

Upon my charmed senses dwell.

Like something Heaven had sung !

Ah I that I could, at once, forget
All, all that haunts me so —

And yet, thou witching girl! — and yet.

To die were sweeter than to let
The loved remembrance go!

515

Letter 184 February

relief to me. No ’twould not. I will be as obstinate as
a Robin, I will not sing in a cage. Health is my ex-
pected heaven and you are the Houri — this word I
believe is both singul2ir and plural — ^if only plural, never
mind — ^you are a thousand of them.

Ever yours affectionately
my dearest.

You had better not come to-day. J. K.

184. To M” WYLIE.

Wentworth Place Friday Mom.'

My dear M” Wylie.

I have been very negligent in not letting you hear
from me for so long a time considering the anxiety I
know you feel for me. Charles has been here this mom-
mg and tell you that I am better. Just as he came
in I was sitting down to write to you, and I shall not let
his visit supersede these few lines. Charles enquired

N05 if this slighted heart must see
Its faithful pulse decay,

Oh ! let it die, remembering thee,

And, Hke the burnt aroma, be
Consumed in sweets away!

^ This letter is diflScult to date with any degree of accuracy.
Amy Lowell placed it ‘before Wylie had made her first visit*
some tune, probably, toward the end of February’. The date of
the first visit of Mrs. Wylie recorded by Keats was Monday
7 February 1820 (see Letter 164, page 500), and the only other
visit Keats mentions is that in Letter 186 (page 519) which is un-
dated though presumed to have been written early in March.
George had sailed from Liverpool about the ist of February, and
toere is good reason to befieve that he had rejoined his wife and
femily in Kentucky by the middle of March. On the ist of April
Keats wote to his sister that he had not heard from George since
r ^^verpool and apparently Mrs. Wylie was the first to learn
of Georges arrival in America, as in the letter to Fanny Keats
postmarked 2 1 April 1820 John says— ‘M^ H. WyHe call’d on me
yesterday with a letter fi:om George to his mother: George is safe
at the other side of the water, perhaps by this time arrived at his
home . — M.B.F.

516

i 820 Letter 184

whether I had heard from George. It is impossible
to guess whether he has landed yet, and if he has it will
take at least a month for any communication to reach
us. I hope you keep your spirits a great height above
freezing point and live in expectation of good news next
summer. Louisville is not such a Monstrous distance: if
Georgiana liv’d at York it would be just as far off. You
see George will make nothing of the journey here and
back. His absence will have been perhaps a fortunate
thing for Georgiana, for the pleasure of his return will
be so great that it will wipe away the consciousness of*
many troubles felt before very deeply. She will see him
return’d from us and be convinced that the separation
is not so very formidable although the Atlantic is
between. If George succeeds it will be better certainly
that they should stop in America: if not why not return?
It is better in ill luck to have at least the comfort of ones
fiiends than to be shipwreck’d among Americans. But
I have good hopes as far as I can judge from what I
have heard from George. He should by this time be
taught Alertness and Carefulness — If they should stop
in America for five or six years let us hope they may
have about Three Children: then the eldest w^ill be
getting old enough to be society. The very crying will
keep their ears employed, and their spirits from being
melancholy. Millar I hear continues confined to
her Chamber — ^if she would take my advice I should
recommend her to keep it till the middle of April and
then go to some Sea-town in Devonshire which is
sheltered from the east wind — which blows down the
channel very briskly even in April. ^ Give my Com-
pliments to Miss Millar and Miss Waldegrave.

Your affectionate friend

John Keats.

^ Mrs. Millar, or Miller, died sometime before the i8th of June
1820; see the letter from George Keats to John, p. 539.

Letter 185 March

185. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, March 1820?]

My dearest Love,

You must not stop so long in the cold — I have been
suspecting that window to be open. — ^You[r] note half-
cured me. When I want some more oranges I will tell
you — these are just a propos. I am kept from food so
feel rather weak— otherwise very well. Pray do not
stop so long upstairs — ^it makes me uneasy — come every
now and then and stop a half minute. Remember me
to your Mother.

Your ever affectionate

J. Keats.

186. To Miss BRAWNE.

* [Wentworth Place, March 1820?]

Sweetest Fanny,

You fear, sometimes, I do not love you so much as
you wish? My dear Girl I love you ever and ever and
without reserve. The more I have known you the more
have I lov’d. In every way — even my jealousies have
been agonies of Love, in the hottest fit I ever had I
would have died for you. I have vex’d you too much.
But for Love! Can I help it? You are always new.^
The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last
smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefuUest.
When you pass’d my window home yesterday, I was
fill’d with as much admiration as if I had then seen you
for the first time. You uttered a half complaint once
that I only lov’d your Beauty.^ Have I nothing else then
to love in you but that? Do not I see a heart naturally

* Surely this is Keats’s retractation of the lines in ‘Ever let the
Fancy roam’ (Letter 93, pp. 285-6: ‘Where ’s the Maid Whose lip
mature is ever new? , . . Fancy has her . . . Never fulsome, ever
new . .

^ See Letter 127, p. 386, in which Keats answers some remarks
of Miss Brawne’s on this subject.

518

iSso Letter 187

fumishM with wings imprison itself with me? No ill
prospect has been able to turn your thoughts a moment
from me. This perhaps should be as much a subject of
sorrow as joy — but I will not talk of that. Even if you
did not love me I could not help an entire devotion to
you: how much more deeply then must I feel for you
knowing you love me. My Mind has been the most dis-
contented and resdess one that ever w^as put into a body
too small for it. I never felt my Mind repose upon any-
thing with complete and undistracted enjo^nnent —
upon no person but you. When you are in the room my
thoughts never fly out of window: you always concen-
trate my whole senses. The anxiety shown about our
Loves in your last note is an immense pleasure to me:
however you must not suffer such speculations to
molest you any more: nor will I any more believe you
can have the least pique against me. Brown is gone out
— ^but here is M"^ Wylie* — ^when she is gone I shall be
awake for you. — Remembrances to your Mother.

Your affectionate

J. Keats.

187, To CHA®. W. DILKE, j Great Smith Street, West-
minster,

[Postmark, Hampstead, 4 March 1820.]

My dear Dilke,

Since I saw you I have been gradually, too gradually
perhaps, improving; and though under an interdict
with respect to animal food living upon pseudo victuals,

^ The significant but indicates that the absence of Brown was
still, as was natural, more or less a condition of the presence of
Miss Brawne. That Keats had, however, or thought he had, some
reason for this condition, beyond the mere delicacy of lovers, is
dimly shadowed by the cold My dear Fanny with which in Letter 1 82
the condition was first expressly prescribed, and more than
shadowed by the agonized expression of a morbid sensibility in
two letters which will be fouiid further on. Probably a man in
sound health would have found the cause trivial enough.

5^9

Letter 187 March

Brown says I have pick’d up a little flesh, lately. If I can
keep off inflammation for the next six weeks I trust I
shall do very well. You certainly should have been at
Martin’s dinner for making an index is surely as dull work
as engraving* Have you heard that the Bookseller is going
to tie himself to the manger eat or not as he pleases?
He says Rice shall have his foot on the fender notwith-
standing. Reynolds is going to sail on the salt seas.
Brown has been mightily progressing with his Hogarth.^
A damn’d melancholy picture it is, and during the first
week of my illness it gave me a psalm singing nightmare,
that made me almost faint away in my sleep. I know I
am better, for I can bear the Picture. I have ex-
perienced a specimen of great politeness from M"" Barry
Cornwall. He has sent me his books. Some time ago
he had given his first publish’d book to Hunt for me;
Hunt forgot to give it and Barry Cornwall thinking I
had received it must have though[t] me [a] very
neglectful fellow.^ Notwithstan[din]g he sent me his

* See Letter 172, p. 507.

2 The following appears to be the letter sent by Procter on this
occasion: the date would be the 25th of February 1820. It
is now in the Dilke Collection:

Friday

25 Store Street Bedford Square.

My dear Sir,

I send you ‘Marcian Colonna’ which think as well of as you can.
There is, I think, (at least in the 2*^*^ and parts) a stronger
infusion of poetry in it than in the Sicilian Story — but I may be
mistaken. I am looking forward with some impatience to the
publication of your book. Will you write my name in an early
copy and send it to me?* Is not this a ‘prodigious bold request’?
I hope that you are getting quite well.

Believe me very sincerely yours

B. W. Procter.

* This was written before I saw you the other day — Some time
ago I scribbled half a dozen lines, under the idea of continuing and
completing a poem to be called ‘The Deluge’ — ^what do you think
of the subject? The Greek Deluge I mean. I wish you would set
me the example of leaving off the word ‘Sir.’

To John Keats, Esq.

520

Letter 187

second book and on my explaining that I had not
received his first he sent me that also. I am sorry to see
by D’s note that she has been so unwell with the
spasms. Does she continue the Medicines that benefited
her so much ? I am afFraid not. Remember me to her and
say I shall not expect her at Hampstead next week unless
the Weather changes for the warmer. It is better to run
no chance of a supemumer[ar]y cold in March. As for
you you must come. You must improve in your pen-
manship; your writing is like the speaking of a child of
three years old, very understandable to its father but to
no one else. The worst is it looks well — no that is not
the worst — the worst is, it is worse than Bailey’s.
Bailey’s looks illegible and may perchance be read;
yours looks very legible and may perchance not be read.
I would endeavour to give you a fac simile of your word
Thistlewood if I were not minded on the instant that
Lord chesterfield has done some such thing to his Son.
Now I would not bathe in the same River with lord C.
though I had the upper hand of the stream. I am
grieved that in writing and speaking it is necessary to
make use of the same particles as he did. Gobbet[t] is
expected to come in. O that I had two double plumpers
for him. The ministry are not so inimical to him but
th& f- it would like to put him put of Coventry. Casting
my eye on the other side I see a long word written in
a most vile manner,^ unbecoming a Critic. You must
recollect I have served no apprenticeship to old plays.
If the only copies of the greek and Latin Authors had
been made by you, Bailey and Haydon they were as
good as lost. It has been said that the Character of
a Man may be known by his handwriting — ^if the
Character of the age may be known by the average
goodness of said, what a slovenly age we live in. Look

* Doubtless the word ‘supernumerary’, from which Keats had
dropped the penultimate or. The next sentence has reference,
I presume, to Dilke’s continuation of Dodsley’s Collection of Old
Plays.

521

Letter i88 March

at Queen Elizabeth’s Latin exercises and blush. Look
at Milton’s hand. I cant say a word for shakespeare.

Your sincere friend

John Keats

1 88. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, March 1820]

My dear Fanny,

I am much better this morning than I was a week
ago: indeed I improve a little every day. I rely upon
taking a walk with you upon the first of May: in the
mean time undergoing a babylonish captivity I shall
not be jew enough to hang up my harp upon a willow,^
but rather endeavour to clear up my arrears in versify-
ing, and with returning health begin upon something
new: pursuant to which resolution it will be necessary
to have my or rather Taylor’s manuscript,^ which you,
if you please, will send by my Messenger either today
or tomorrow. Is M^D.^ with you today? You appeared
very much fatigued last night: you must look a little
brighter this morning. I shall not suffer my little girl
ever to be obscured like glass breath’d upon, but always
bright as it is her nature to^ Feeding upon sham victuals
and sitting by the fire will completely annul me. I have
no need of an enchanted wax figure to duplicate me,
for I am melting in my proper person before the fire.^
If you meet with anything better (worse) than common
in your Magazines let me see it.

Good bye my sweetest Girl.
J.K.

^ Cf. Psalm cxxxvii, 1,2.

^ Presumably the manuscript of ‘Lamia, Isabella’, &c., then
about to be sent to press.

^ I suppose Mr. Dilke.

^ If an allusion to Dr. Watts’s line, ‘For ’tis their nature too’, was
Keats guilty of the common misquotation, or did he imderline it
to mark the error?

® Referring to the superstition that a person’s death might be
compassed by melting a waxen image of the person before a fire:
Dante Gabriel Rossetti embodied it in his ‘Sister Helen’.

522

letter 190

1820

189. To Miss BRAWNE.

[W’^entworth Place, March 1820?]
My dearest Fanny, whe[ne]ver you know me to be
alone, come, no matter what day. Why will you go out
this weather? I shall not fatigue myself wdth writing too
much I promise you. Brown says I am getting stouter.

I rest well and from last night do not remember any
thing horrid in my dream, which is a capital symptom, ,
for any organic derangement always occasions a Phan- ^
tasmagoria. It will be a nice idle amusement to hunt
after a motto for my Book which I will have if lucky
enough to hit upon a fit one^ — not intending to write a
preface. I fear I am too late with my note — ^you are
gone out — ^you will be as cold as a topsail in a north
latitude — I advise you to furl yourself and come in a
doors.

Good bye Love.

J. K.

190. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, March 1820?]

My dearest Fanny, I slept well last night and am no
worse this morning for it. Day by day if I am not
deceived I get a more unrestrain’d use of my Chest. The
nearer a racer gets to the Goal the more his anxiety
becomes, so I lingering upon the borders of health feel
my impatience increase. Perhaps on your account I
have imagined my illness more serious than it is: how
horrid was the chance of slipping into the ground in-
stead of into your arms — the difference is amazing Love,
Death must come at last; Man must die, as Shallow
says;^ but before that is my fate I feign [sic] would try
what more pleasures than you have given, so sweet a
creature as you can give. Let me have another op[p]or-

^ The book appeared without any motto.

^ Cf. ‘2 Henry IV’, in. ii. 42,

523

Letter 19 1 March

tunity of years before me and I will not die without
being remember’d.^ Take care of yourself dear that we
may both be well in the Summer. I do not at all fatigue
myself with writing, having merely to put a line or two
here and there, a Task which would worry a stout state
of the body and mind, but which just suits me as I can
do no more.

Your affectionate

J.K-

191. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, March 1820?]

My dearest Fanny,

Though I shall see you in so short a time I cannot
forbear sending you a few lines. You say I did not give
you yesterday a minute account of my health. To-day
I have left off the Medicine which I took to keep the
pulse down and I find I can do very well without it,
which is a very favourable sign, as it shows that there
is no inflammation remaining. You think I may be
wearied at night you say: it is my best time; I am at my
best about eight o’Clock, I received a Note from M^
Proctor [sic'\ to-day. He says he cannot pay me a visit
this weather as he is fearful of an inflammation in^e
Chest. What a horrid climate this is? or what careless
inhabitants it has? You are one of them. My dear girl
do not make a joke of it: do not expose yourself to the
cold. There ’s the Thrush again — I can’t afford it —
he’ll run me up a pretty Bill for Music — ^besides he
ought to know I deal at Clementi’s. How can you bear
so long an imprisonment at Hampstead? I shall always
remember it with all the gusto that a monopolizing
carle should. I could build an Altar to you for it.

Your affectionate

J.K.

^ Cf. Letter 175, p. 510.

524

Letter 194

192* To Miss KEATS, Abbeys Esq’^^ Walthamstow,

[Postmark, 20 March 1820.]

My dear Fanny,

According to your desire I write to day. It must be
but a few lines for I have been attack’d se\"eral times
with a palpitation at the heart and the Doctor says I
must not make the slightest exertion. I am much the
same to day as I have been for a week past. They say
’tis nothing but debility and will entirely cease on my
recovery of my strength, which is the object of my
present diet. As the Doctor will not suffer me to write
I shall ask M^ Brown to let you hear news of me for the
future if I should not get stronger soon. I hope I shall
be well enough to come and see your flowers in bloom —

Ever your most
affectionate Brother

John —

193. To Miss BRAWTiE.

[Wentworth Place, March 1820?]

My dearest Girl,

As, from the last part of my note you must see how
gratified I have been by your remaining at home, you
might perhaps conceive that I was equally bias’d the
other way by your going to Town, I cannot be easy
to-night without telling you you would be wrong to
suppose so. Though I am pleased with the one, I am
not displeased with the other. How do I dare to write
in this manner about my pleasures and displeasures?
I will tho’ whilst I am an invalid, in spite of you. Cxood
night. Love!

J. K.

194. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, March 1820?]

My dearest Girl,

In consequence of our company I suppose I shall not
see you before to-morrow. I am much better to-day —
indeed all I have to complain of is want of strength and

525

Letter 195 March

a little tightness in the Chest. I envied Sam’s walk with
yon to-day; which I will not do again as I may get very
tired of envying. I imagine you now sitting in your new
black dress which I like so much and if I were a little
less selfish and more enthousiastic [i-zV] I should run
round and surprise you with a knock at the door. I fear
I am too prudent for a dying kind of Lover. Yet, thero
is a great difference between going off in warm blood
like Romeo, and making one’s exit like a frog in a frost.^
I had nothing particular to say to-day, but not intend-
ing that there shall be any interruption to our corre-
spondence (which at some future time I propose offer-
ing to Murray) I write something. God bless you my
sweet Love! Illness is a long lane, but I see you at the
end of it, and shall mend my pace as well as possible.

J.K.

195. To Miss BRAWNE.

[Wentworth Place, March 1820?]

Dear Girl,

Yesterday you must have thought me worse than I
really was. I assure you there was nothing but regret at
being obliged to forego an embrace which has so many
times been the highest gust’^ of my Life. I would not
care for health without it. Sam would not come in —
I wanted merely to ask him how you were this morning.
When one is not quite well we turn for relief to those we
love: this is no weakness of spirit in me: you know when
in health I thought of nothing but you; when I shall
again be so it will be the same. Brown has been men-
tioning to me that some hint from Sam, last night,
occasions him some uneasiness. He whispered some-
thing to you concerning Brown and old M’^ Dilke which

^ Cf. Dryden’s translation of the Nineteenth Elegy of Ovid,
11. 17, 18:

‘With what a Gust, ye Gods, we then imbrac’d !

How every kiss was dearer than the last!*
and ‘Twelfth Night*, i. iii. 33, 34: ‘To allay the gust he hath in
quarrelling*.

526

Letter 1 96

had the complexion of being something derogaton^ to
the former. It was connected with an anxiety about
D. Sr’s death and an anxiety to set out for Chichester.
These sort of hints point out their own solution: one
cannot pretend to a delicate ignorance on the subject:
you understand the whole matter. If any one, my sweet
Love, has misrepresented, to you, to your Mother or
Sam, any circumstances which are at all likely, at a
tenth remove, to create suspicions among people who
from their own interested notions slander others, pray
tell me: for I feel the least attaint on the disinterested
character of Brown very deeply. Perhaps Reynolds or
some other of my friends may come tow^ards evening,
therefore you may choose whether you will come to see
me early to-day before or after diimer as you may think
fit. Remember me to your Mother and tell her to drag
you to me if you show the least reluctance —

[Signature missing.]

196. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place, April [1820.]

My dear Fanny —

I am getting better every day and should think myself
quite well were I not reminded every' now and then by
faintness and a tightness in the Chest. Send your
Spaniel over to Hampstead for I think I know where to
find a Master or Mistress for him. You may depend
upon it if you were even to turn it loose in the common
road it would soon find an owner. If I keep improving
as I have done I shall be able to come over to you in the
course of a few weeks. I should take the advantage of
your being in Town but I cannot bear the City^ though
I have already ventured as far as the west end for the
purpose of seeing M^ Haydon’s Picture which is just
finished and has m[ade its] appearance.^ I have not

^ i.e. the private view of the picture of Christ’s Entry into
Jerusalem. The picture was exhibited at the Egyptian Hah,

527

Letter 197 April

heard from George yet since he left liverpool. Brown

wrote to him as from me the other day — B. wrote
two Letters to Abbey concerning me — M"* A. took
no notice and of course B. must give up such a corre-
spondence when as the man said all the Letters are on
one side. I write with greater ease than I had thought,
ther[e]fore you shall soon hear from me again.

Your affectionate Brother
John —

197. To Miss KEATS.

[April 1820.]

My dear Fanny

M"" Brown is waiting for me to take a walk.

Dilke is on a visit next door and desires her love to you.
The Dog shall be taken care of and for his name I shall
go and look in the parish register^ where he was born —
I still continue on the mending hand.

Your affectionate Brother
John —

198. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place 12 April [1820].

My dear Fanny —

Excuse these shabby scraps of paper I send you — and
also from endeavouring to give you any consolation
just at present for though my health is tolerably well

Piccadilly, and the private view was on Saturday, the 25th of
March 1 820. In Haydon’s account of the triumphs of that day
(Autobiography’, first edition of Taylor’s ‘Life’, i, 371), he says:
‘The room was hill. Keats and Hazlitt were up in a comer, really
rejoicing.’

197. Although this letter has neither date nor postmark, being
addressed simply ‘Miss Keats’, there is little doubt that it was
written between the ist and 12th of April 1820, and was intended
as an acknowledgment of the due receipt of ‘the dog’ — ^probably
to go back to Withamstow by the person who brought the dog.
On the 1st Keats wrote to his sister to send her spaniel to Hamp-
stead, and on the 12th that it was ‘being attended to like a Prince’.
^ Gf. Letter 143, p, 427, third line from end.

528

Letter 199

I am too nervous to enter into any discussion in which
my heart is concerned. Wait patiently and take care of
your health being especially careful to keep yourself
from low spirits which are great enemies to health. You
are young and have only need of a little patience. I am
not yet able to bear the fatigue of coming to Waltham-
stow though I have been to Town once or twice. I have
thought of taking a change of air. You shall hear from
me immediately on my mo\ing any where. I will ask
Dilke to pay you a \dsit if the weather holds fine,
the first time I see her. The Dog is being attended to
like a Prince.

Your affectionate Brother
John

199. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esq^^ Walthamstow,

{Postmark^ Hampstead, 21 April 1820.]

My dear Fanny,

I have been slowly improving since I wrote last. The
Doctor assures me that there is nothing the matter with
me except nervous irritability and a general weakness
of the whole system which has proceeded from my
anxiety of mind of late years and the too great excite-
ment of poetry. M"" Brown is going to Scotland by the
Smack, and I am advised for change of exercise and
air to accompany him and give myself the chance of
benefit from a Voyage. H. Wylie call’d on me
yesterday with a letter from George to his mother:
George is safe on the other side of the water, perhaps by
this time arrived at his home. I wish you were coming
to town that I might see you; if you should be coming
write to me, as it is quite a trouble to get by the coaches
to Walthamstow. Should you not come to Town I must
see you before I sail, at Walthamstow. They tell me
I must study lines and tangents and squares and circles
to put a little Ballast into my mind. We shall be
going in a fortnight and therefore you will see me

529

Letter 200 May

within that space. I expected sooner, but I have not
been able to venture to walk across the Country. Now
the fine Weather is come you will not fine [sic] your
time so irksome. You must be sensible how much I
regret not being able to alleviate the unpleasantness of
your situation, but trust my dear Fanny that better
times are in wait for you.

Your affectionate Brother
John —

200. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place Thursday — [Postmark, 4 May 1820.]

My dear Fanny,

I went for the first time into the City the day before
yesterday, for before I was very disincHned to encounter
the scuffle, more from nervousness than real illness;
which notwithstanding I should not have suffered to
conquer me if I had not made up my mind not to go to
Scotland, but to remove to Kentish Town till Brown
returns. Kentish Town is a Mile nearer to you than
Hampstead — I have been getting gradually better but
am not so well as to trust myself to the casualties of rain
and sleeping out which I am liable to in visiting you.
M^ Brown goes on Saturday and by that time I shall
have settled in my new Lodging when I will certainly
venture to you. You will forgive me I hope when I con-
fess that I endeavour to think of you as little as possible
and to let George dwell upon my mind but slightly.
The reason being that I am affraid to ruminate on any
thing which has the shade of difficulty or melancholy in
it, as that sort of cogitation is so pernicious to health,
and it is only by health that I can be enabled to alleviate
your situation in future. For some time you must do
what you can of yourself for relief, and bear your mind
up with the consciousness that your situation cannot
last for ever, and that for the present you may console
yourself against the reproaches of M""® Abbey, What-

530

Letter 201

ever obligations you may have had to her [or her
Husband deleted] you have none now as she has re-
proach’d you. I do not know what property you have,
but I will enquire into it: be sure however that beyond
the obligations that a Lodger may have to a Landlord
you have none to Abbey. Let the surety of this
make you laugh at A’s foolish tatde. M'® Dilke’s
Brother has got your Dog. She is now veiy^ well — still
liable to Illness. I will get her to come and see you if I
can make up my mind on the propriety of introducing
a stranger into Abbey’s House. Be careful to let no
fretting injure you[r] health as I have suffered it — health
is the greatest of blessings — ^with health and hope we
should be content to live, and so you will find as you
grow older — I am

my dear Fanny

your affectionate Brother
John—

201. To C. W. DILKE, Esq.

[Wentworth Place, May 1820.]

My dear Dilke,

As Brown is not to be a fixture at Ham[p]stead^ I
have at last made up my mind to send home all lent
Books. I should have seen you before this — but my
mind [h]as been at work all over the world to find out
what to do — I have my choice of three things — or at
least two — South America or Surgeon to an I[n]diaman

201. The manuscript of this letter, which bears no date, post-
mark, or further address than ‘G. W. Dilke Esq.*, has on it a
pencilled memorandum assigning it to the year 1820. It would
therefore seem to belong to the time just before the departure of
Brown for Scotland on the 7th of May 1820. Dilke notes that
‘Brown let his house, as he was accustomed to do in the summer —
and therefore Keats was obliged to remove.* As regards the scheme
of becoming Surgeon on board an Indiaman, see the letters to
Miss Jeffrey numbered 1 18 and 1 19,

^ Brown was starting for a second Scotch tour — ^alone this time,
except so far as the voyage down the river to Gravesend was con-
cerned.

531

Letter 202 May

— which last I think will be my fate — I shall resolve in
a few days. Remember [me] to D. and Charles—
and your Father and Mother.

Ever truly yours

John Keats

202. To FANNY BRAWNE, addressed to BRAWNE’.

[Kentish Town, May 1820.]

My dearest Girl,

I endeavour to make myself as patient as possible.
Hunt amuses me very kindly — besides I have your ring
on my finger and your flowers on the table. I shall not
expect to see you yet because it would be so much pain
to part with you again. When the Books you want
come you shall have them. I am very well this after-
noon. My dearest . . .

[Signature cut off.^]

203. To FANNY BRAWNE, addressed to ‘M^® BRAWNE^

Tuesday Af^- [Kentish Town, May 1820?]
My dearest Fanny,

For this Week past I have been employed in marking
the most beautiful passages in Spenser, intending it for
you, and comforting myself in being somehow occupied
to give you however small a pleasure. It has lightened
my time very much. I am much better, God bless you.

Your affectionate

J. Keats

^ The piece cut off the original letter is so small that nothing can
well be wanting except the signature, — ^probably given to an
autograph-coUector. This letter was of course written after Keats’s
removal from Wentworth Place to Wesleyan Place, Kentish Town,
which, according to the letter written by the poet to his sister on
the 4th of May 1820, was to have been accomplished by the 6th.
The rest of the letters to Fanny Brawne all appear to have been
written at Kentish Town, either at Wesleyan Place where Keats
lodged up to the 23rd of June, or at Hunt’s house in Mortimer
Terrace to which he seems to have moved on that day.

203. The book referred to in this letter was lost in Germany.

532

i 820

Letter 205

204. To CHARLES BROWN.

[Kentish Town, 15 May 1820.]

My dear Brown,

You must not expect me to date my letter from such
a place as this: you have heard the name; that is
sufficient, except merely to tell you it is the 15th instant.
You know I was very well in the smack; I have con-
tinued much the same, and am well enough to extract
much more pleasure than pain out of the summer, even
though I should get no better. I shall not say a word
about the stanza you promised yourself through my
medium, and will swear, at some future time, I pro-
mised. Let us hope I may send you more than one in
my next.

* 4 : He 4^ :ic

205. Tc? FANNY BRAWNE.

Tuesday Morn. [Kentish Town, May 1820.]

My dearest Girl,

I wrote a Letter for you yesterday expecting to have
seen your mother. I shall be selfish enough to send it
though I know it may give you a little pain, because

204. ‘It was his choice/ says Brown (Houghton Papers), ‘during
my absence, to lodge at Kentish Town, that he might be near his
friend, Leigh Hunt, in whose companionship he was ever happy.
He went with me in the Scotch smack as far as Gravesend. This
was on the 7th of May. I never saw him afterwards. As evidence
of his well being I had requested him to send me some new stanzas
to his comic faery poem; for, since his illness, he had not dared the
exertion of composing. At the end of eight days he wrote in good
spirits . . The fragment printed above is aU that Brown gave of
the letter ‘in good spirits’. The pleasantry about not dating is
characteristic enough as addressed to one punctilious in such
matters.

205. This letter bears no address whatever. — I do not find
among the extant letters any one which I can regard as the partic-
ular letter referred to in the opening sentence. If Letter 209
were headed Tuesday and this Wednesday, that might well be the
peccant document which appears to be missing.

. “ 533

R

Letter 205 May

I wish you to see how unhappy I am for love of you,
and endeavour as much as I can to entice you to give
up your whole heart to me whose whole existence hangs
upon you. You could not step or move an eyelid but it
would shoot to my heart— I am greedy of you. Do not
think of any thing but me. Do not live as if I was not
existing— Do not forget me — But have I any right to
say you forget me? Perhaps you think of me all day.
Have I any right to wish you to be unhappy for me?
You would forgive me for wishing it, if you knew the
extreme passion I have that you should love me — and
for you to love me as I do you, you must think of no one
but me, much less write that sentence. Yesterday and
this morning I have been haunted with a sweet vision- —
I have seen you the whole time in your shepherdess
dress. How my senses have ached at it! How my
heart has been devoted to it! How my eyes have been
full of Tears at it! I [n] deed I think a real Love is
enough to occupy the widest heart. Your going to
town alone, when I heard of it was a shock to me — ^yet
I expected it — promise me you will not for some time^ till I get
better. Promise me this and fill the paper full of the most
endearing names. If you cannot do so with good will,
do my Love tell me — say what you think — confess if
your heart is too much fasten’d on the world. Perhaps
then I may see you at a greater distance, I may not be
able to appropriate you so closely to myself. Were you
to loose a favorite bird from the cage, how would your
eyes ache after it as long as it was in sight; when out of
sight you would recover a little. Perphaps [jzk] if you
would, if so it is, confess to me how many things are
necessary to you besides me, I might be happier, by
being less tantaliz’d. Well may you exclaim, how selfish,
how cruel, not to let me enjoy my youth ! to wish me to
be unhappy! You must be so if you love me — upon my
Soul I can be contented with nothing else. If you could
really what is call’d enjoy yourself at a Party — ^if you
can smile in peoples faces, and wish them to admire you

534

i 820 Letter 206

now^ you never have [loved] nor ever will love me. I see life
in nothing but the certainty of your Love — convince me
of it my sweetest. If I am not somehow cominc'd
I shall die of agony. If we love we must not live as other
men and women do — I cannot brook the wolfsbane^ of
fashion and foppery and tattle. You must be mine to
die upon the rack if I want you. I do not pretend to say
I have more feeling than my fellows — but I wish you
seriously to look over my letters kind and unkind and
consider whether the Person who wrote them can be
able to endure much longer the agonies and uncertain-
ties which you are so peculiarly made to create. My
recovery of bodily hea[l]th will be of no benefit to me if
you are not all mine when I am w^elL For God’s sake
save me — or tell me my passion is of too awful a nature
for you. Again God bless you

J. K.

No — my sweet Fanny — I am wrong. I do not want
you to be unhappy — and yet I do, I must wLile there is
so sweet a Beauty— my loveliest my darling ! Good bye !
I Kiss you — O Ihe torments!

206. To JOHN TAYLOR Esq^® Taylor & Hess^ Book-
sellers &c. Fleet Street — The first Bookseller on the left
hand^from St Pauls ^ past Bridge Street, Black friars,

[i I June ? 1820].

My dear Taylor,

In reading over the proof of Agnes’ Eve since I
left Fleet street I was struck with what appears to me
an alteration in the 7^ Stanza very much for the worse.
The passage I mean stands thus

‘her maiden eyes incline
Still on the floor, while many a sweeping train
Pass by — ’

^ Cf. ‘Ode on Melancholy’, 1. 2.

535

R 2

June

Letter 207

Twas originally written

‘her maiden eyes divine
Fix’d on the floor saw many a sweeping train
Pass by —

My meaning is quite destroyed in the alteration. I do
not use train for concourse of passers by but for Skirts sweep-
ing along the floor.

In the first Stanza my copy reads — line
‘bitter chill it was’

to avoid the echo cold in the next line.

ever yours sincerely

John Keats

207. To CHARLES BROWN.

[Kentish Town, June 1820.]

My dear Brown,

I have only been to ’s once since you left, when

could not find your letters. Now this is bad of me.

I should, in this instance, conquer the great aversion to
breaking up my regular habits, which grows upon me
more and more. True, I have an excuse in the weather,
which drives one from shelter to shelter in any little
excursion. I have not heard from George. My book^ is
coming out with very low hopes, though not spirits, on
my part. This shall be my last trial; not succeeding,
I shall try what I can do in the apothecary line. When

you hear from or see it is probable you will hear

some complaints against me, which this notice is not
intended to forestall. The fact is, I did behave badly;
but it is to be attributed to my health, spirits, and the
disadvantageous ground I stand on in society. I could
go and accommodate matters if I were not too weary of
the world. I know that they are more happy and com-

207. This undated letter belongs to the time between the 7th of
May 1820, when Brown left for Scotland, and the 23rd of June,
when Keats wrote to his sister that he had heard from George.

^ ‘Lamia, Isabella’, &c.

536

Letter 207

fortable than I am; therefore why should I trouble my-
self about it? I foresee I shall know very few people in
the course of a year or two. Men get" such different
habits that they become as oil and \inegar to one
another. Thus far I have a consciousness of ha\ing been
pretty dull and hea\y5 both in subject and phrase; I
might add, enigmatical. I am in the wrong, and the
world is in the right, I have no doubt. Fact is, I have
had so many kindnesses done me by so many people,
that I am cheveaux-de-frised with benefits, which I

must jump over or break down. I met in town,^

a few days ago, who imdted me to supper to meet
Wordsworth, Southey, Lamb, Haydon, and some more;
I was too careful of my health to risk being out at night.
Talking of that, I continue to improve slowly, but, I
think, surely. All the talk at present. . . . There is a
famous exhibition in Pall-MalP of the old English por-
traits by Vandyck and Holbein, Sir Peter Lely, and the
great Sir Godfrey. Pleasant countenances predominate;
so I will mention two or three impleasant ones. There
is James the First, whose appearance would disgrace a
‘Society for the Suppression of Women’; so very squalid
and subdued to nothing he looks. Then, there is old
Lord Burleigh, the high-priest of economy, the political
save-all, who has the appearance of a Pharisee just re-
buffed by a Gospel b on-mot. Then, there is George the
Second, very like an unintellectual Voltaire, troubled
with the gout and a bad temper. Then, there is young
Devereux, the favourite, with every appearance of as
slang a boxer as any in the Court; his face is cast in the
mould of blackguardism with jockey-plaster. . . . I shall
soon begin upon ‘Lucy Vaughan Lloyd’.^ I do not

^ Crabb Robinson records an evening spent at Monkhouse’s on
June 21, 1820, when Lamb, Wordsworth, and Talfourd were
present.

® At the British Institution in June 1820.

3 The pen-name imder which Keats projected to publish ‘The
Cap and Belk’.

537

Letter 207 June

begin composition yet, being willing, in case of a relapse,
to have nothing to reproach myself with. I hope the
weather will give you the slip; let it show itself and steal

out of your company^ When I have sent off this,

I shall write another to some place about fifty miles
in advance of you.

Good morning to you. Yours ever sincerely

John Keats

From GEORGE KEATS JOHN KEATS.

Louisville June i8th 1820

My dear John

Where will our miseries end? so soon as the Thursday after I left
London you were attacked with a dangerous illness, an hour after

1 left this for England my little Girl became so ill as to approach
the Grave dragging our dear George after her. You are recovered
(thank [God?] I hear the bad and good news together) they are
recovered, and yet I feel gloomy instead of grateful. Perhaps from
the consideration that so short a time will serve to deprive me of
every object that makes life pleasant. Brown says you are really
recovered, that you eat, drink, sleep, and walk five miles without
uneasiness, this is positive, and I believe you nearly recovered but
your perfect recovery depends on the future. You must go to a
more favorable clime, must be easy in your mind, the former
depends on me the latter on yourself. My prospect of being able
to send you 200;^ very soon is pretty good, I have an offer for the
Boat which I have accepted, but the party who lives at Natchez
(near New Orleans 300 miles only) will not receive information
that I have accepted his offer for some weeks since the Gentleman
who was commissioned to make it has gone up the Country and not
yet returned, the only chance against us is that the purchasing
party may change his mind; this is improbable since he has already
purchased one fifth and to my knowledge is very anxious to obtain
mine, but it is not impossible. I will direct my Agent at New
Orleans to send you fioo£ instantly on receiving the proceeds of
the sale and should no unexpected delay occur it will arrive within

2 or 3 weeks of this letter. It shall be addressed to you at Abbey
& Go’s, the first of exchange directly from New Orleans, the second
and third by way of New York and this place. I have no other
means of raising anything like that Sum, scarcely a man in the town
could borrow such a sum. I might suggest means of raising the

^ ‘Much Ado about Nothing’, in. iii. 63, 64.

538

iB 20 Letter 208

money on this hope immediately but Brovm. being on the spot will
advisewhat is best. Sinceyour health requires it[5] to Italy you must
and shall go. Make your mind easy and place confidence in my
success, I cannot ensure it, but will deserve it. I have a consign-
ment of goods to sell by commission, which helps me a little, if this
parcel does well I shall have more. When I have received the
price offered for the Boat I shall have been no loser by the pur-
chase. This considering the alteration in times is doing wonders.
George desires her love and thinks that if you were with us our
nursing would soon bring you to rights, but I tell her you cannot
be in better hands than Brown’s, she joins me in grateful thanks to
him. I wiU write to him next post, repeating what is important in
this, lest one should miscarry. Our love to Fanny and W. and
Brothers. Yesterday’s Post, with Brown’s letter brought us one
from Henry Wylie acquainting us with the death of Miller.
Our love to Mary Miller if you should see her, George will write
her in a few days. I will write again soon. I made up a packet to
Haslam containing letters to Fanny, M^ Abbey and M*^ W: to go
by private hand, the Gentleman has postponed his voyage. Take
the utmost care of yourself my dear John for the sake of your most
aflfectionate and alarmed Brother and Sister.

I am

Your very affectionate Brother
George.

208. To Miss KEATS, Abbeys Esq^'^ Walthamstow.

Friday Mom — [23 June 1820].

{Postrriark^ Kentish Town, 26 June 1820.]

My dear Fanny,

I had intended to delay seeing you till a Book which
I am now publishing was out, expecting that to be the

208. This letter would seem to have been written the morning
after the attack of blood-spitting to which it refers. If so, the
attack in question had taken place, like the former attack, on a
Thursday. The letter must have been delayed, for the postmark
is as distinctly as possible that of the 26th of June 1820, which was
a Monday. On the same day that Keats w’as writing to his sister,
Friday the 23rd of June 1820, Mrs. Gisborne wrote thus in her
private journal in my possession: — ‘Yesterday evening w>’e drank
tea at M*^ Hunt’s; we found him ill, as he had been attacked with
a bilioxis fever, soon after we last saw him, and was not recovered.
His nephew was with him; he appears grave, and very attentive to
his imcle, listening to all his words, in silence. M^ Keats was

539

Letter 209 July

end of this week when I would have brought it to
Walthamstow: on receiving your Letter of course I set
myself to come to town, but was not able for just as I
was setting out yesterday morning a slight spitting of
blood came on which returned rather more copiously
at night. I have slept well and they tell me there is
nothing material to fear. I will send my Book soon
with a Letter which I have had from George who is
with his family quite well.

Your affectionate Brother
John —

209. To FANNY BRAWNE.

Wednesday Mom [in] g. [Kentish Town, 1820; ?5july.]
My dearest Girl,

I have been a walk this morning with a book in my
hand, but as usual I have been occupied with nothing
but you: I wish I could say in an agreeable manner.
I am tormented day and night. They talk of my going
to Italy. Tis certain I shall never recover if I am to be

introduced to us the same evening; he had lately been ill also, and
spoke but little; the Endymion was not mentioned, this person
might not be its author; but on observing his countenance and his
eyes I persuaded myself that he was the very person. We talked of
music, and of Italian and English singing; I mentioned that Fari-
nelli had the art of taking breath imperceptibly, while he con-
tinued to hold one single note, alternately swelling out and
diminishing the power of his voice like waves. Keats observed that
this must in some degree be painful to the hearer, as when a diver
descends into the hidden depths of the sea you feel an apprehension
lest he may never rise again. These may not be his exact words as
he spoke in a low tone.’ Probably the slight blood-spitting of the
morning had made him careful; but to no effect. Mrs. Gisborne
records later that she called at Himt’s the following Saturday and
learnt ff om^ Mrs. Hunt that Himt was worse and ‘that Keats
was also ill in the house; he had burst a blood vessel the very night
after we had seen 1^, and in order to be well attended, he had
been moved from his lodgings in the neighbourhood, to M^ Hunt’s
house.’ The ‘night after’ must mean the night of the same day—
the 22nd; and probably Keats moved from Wesleyan Place to
Mortimer Terrace on the 23rd of June 1820.

209. This letter bears no address.

540

i 820

Letter 209

so long separate from you: yet with all this devotion to
you I cannot persuade myself into any confidence of
you. Past experience connected with the fact of my long
separation from you gives me agonies w^hich are scarcely
to be talked of. When your mother comes I shall be
very sudden and expert in asking her whether you have
been to Dilke’s, for she might say no to make me
easy. I am literally w^om to death, w^hich seems my
only recourse. I cannot forget what has pass’d. What?
nothing with a man of the world, but to me dreadful.
I will get rid of this as much as possible. When you
were in the habit of flirting with Brown you would have
left off, could your own heart have felt one half of one
pang mine did. Brown is a good sort of Man — he did
not know he was doing me to death by inches. I feel
the effect of every one of those hours in my side now;
and for that cause, though he has done me many
services, though I know his love and friendship for me,
though at this moment I should be without pence w^ere
it not for his assistance, I will never see or speak to him^
until we are both old men, if we are to be. I will resent
my heart having been made a football. You will call
this madness. I have heard you say that it was not un-
pleasant to wait a few years — ^j^ou have amusements —
your mind is away — ^you have not brooded over one
idea as I have, and how should you? You are to me an
an object intensely desireable — the air I breathe in
a room empty of you is unhealthy. I am not the same
to you — ^no — ^you can wait — ^you have a thousand
activities — ^you can be happy without me. Any party,
any thing to fill up the day has been enough. How have

^ This extreme bitterness of feeling must have supervened, one
would think, on increased bodily dis^e; for the letter was clearly
written after the parting of Keats and Brown at Gravesend, which
took place on the 7 th of May 1820, and on which occasion there is
every reason to think that the fiiends were undivided in attach-
ment. I imagine Keats would gladly have seen Brown within a
week of this time had there been any opportunity.

541

Letter 210 July

you pass’d this month?^ Wlio[m] have you smil’d with?
All this may seem savage in me. You do not feel as I do
— ^you do not know what it is to love— one day you may
— ^your time is not come. Ask yourself how many un-
happy hours Keats has caused you in Loneliness. For
myself I have been a Martyr the whole time, and for
this reason I speak; the confession is forc’d from me by
the torture. I appeal to you by the blood of that Christ
you believe in: Do not write to me if you have done
anything this month which it would have pained me to
have seen. You may have altered — ^if you have not — ^if
you still behave in dancing rooms and other societies as
I have seen you — I do not want to live — if you have
done so I wish this coming night may be my last. I can-
not live without you, and not only you but chaste you;
virtuous you. The Sun rises and sets, the day passes, and
you follow the bent of your inclination to a certain
extent — you have no conception of the quantity of
miserable feeling that passes through me in a day. — ^Be
serious! Love is not a plaything — and again do not'
write unless you can do it with a crystal conscience.

I would sooner die for want of you than

Yours for ever

J. Keats.

210. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Mortimer Terrace Wednesday {Postmark^ 6 July 1820.]
My dear Fanny,

I have had no return of the spitting of blood, and for
two or three days have been getting a little stronger.

^ This question might be taken to indicate the lapse of about ’
a month from the time when Keats left the house at Hampstead
next door to Miss Brawne’s, where he probably knew her employ-
ments well enough from day to day; but I am inclined to think that
a longer time had passed.

210. Between the date of this letter and the probable date of the
next, Mrs. Gisborne made the following entry in her journal: —
‘Wednesday 12 July. We drank tea at Hunt’s; I was much

542

iSso Letter 211

I have no hopes of an entire reestablishment of my
health under some months of patience. My Physician
tells me I must contrive to pass the Winter in Italy.
This is all very unfortunate for us — ^we have no recourse
but patience, which I am now practicing better than
ever I thought it possible for me. I have this moment
received a Letter from Brown, dated Dunvegan
Gasde, Island of Skye. He is very well in health and
spirits. My new publication has been out for some days
and I have directed a Copy to be bound for you, which
you will receive shortly. No one can regret M"^ Hodg-
kinson’s ill fortxme: I must own illness has not made
such a Saint of me as to prevent my rejoicing at his
reverse. Keep yourself in as good hopes as possible; in
case my illness should continue an unreasonable time
many of my friends would I trust for my sake do all in
their power to console and amuse you, at the least word
from me — ^You may depend upon it that in case my
strength returns I \\dU do all in my power to extricate
you from the Abbies [i’fr]. Be above all things careful
of your health which is the comer stone of aU pleasure.

Your affectionate Brother
John —

21 1. To Miss KEATS, Abbey Es<f^ Walthamstow.

[Postmark^ 22 July 1820. J

My dear Fanny,

I have been gaining Strength for some days: it would
be well if I could at the same time say I [am] gaining
hopes of a speedy recovery- My constitution has suffered
very much for two or three years past, so as to be

pained by the sight of poor Keats, under sentence of death from
Lamb. He never spoke and looks emaciated.’ It was perhaps
immediately upon this visit that Mr. Gisborne "svTote to Shelley the
communication which induced his letter to Keats dated the 27th
of July 1820.

^ The postmark is that of Hampstead; but Keats was certainly
still at Kentish Town, whence the letter must have been carried
to Hampstead and posted.

543

Letter 212 July

scar[c]ely able to make head against illness, which the l
natural activity and impatience of my Mind renders >
more dangerous. It will at all events be a very tedious ,
affair, and you must expect to hear very little alteration ■
of any sort in me for some time. You ought to have ‘
received a copy of my Book ten days ago[:] I shall send
another message to the Booksellers. One of the
Wylies will be here to day or to morrow when I will
ask him to send you George’s Letter. Writing the
smallest note is so an[n]oying to me that I have waited
till I shall see him. M"" Hunt does every thing in his
power to make the time pass as agreeably with me as
possible. I read the greatest part of the day, and
generally take two half hour walks a day up and down
the terrace which is very much pester’d with cries,
ballad singers, and street music. We have been so
unfortunate for so long a time, every event has been of
so depressing a nature that I must persuade myself to
think some change will take place in the aspect of our
affairs. I shall be upon the look out for a trump card.

Your affectionate

Brother, John —

212. roFANOTBRAWNE,addressedto'MrsBRAWNE’.

[Kentish Town, July 1820?]

My dearest Fanny,

My head is puzzled this morning, and I scarce know
what I shall say though I am full of a hundred things.
’Tis certain I would rather be writing to you this morn-
ing, notwithstanding the alloy of grief in such an
occupation, than enjoy any other pleasure, with health
to boot, unconnected with you. Upon my soul I have
loved you to the extreme. I wish you could know the
Tenderness with which I continually brood over your
different aspects of countenance, action and dress. I see
you come down in the morning: I see you meet me at
the Window — I see every thing over again eternally
that I ever have seen. If I get on the pleasant clue I live

544

Letter 212

in a sort of happy misery, if on the unpleasant ’tis
miserable miser\\ You complain of my illtreating you
in word, thought and deed — I am sorr\% — at times I
feel bitterly sorr\^ that I ever made you unhappy — mv
excuse is that those words have been wTung from me bv
the sha[r]pness of my feelings. At all events and in any
case I have been wrong; could I believe that I did it
without any cause, I should be the most sincere of
Penitents. I could give way to my repentant feelings
now, I could recant all my suspicions, I could mingle
with you heart and Soul though absent, were it not
for some parts of your Letters. Do you suppose it
possible I could ever leave you? You know what I
think of myself and what of you. You know that I
should feel how much it was my , loss and how little
yours. My friends laugh at you ! I know some of them
— ^when I know them all I shall never think of them
again as friends or even acquaintance. My friends have
behaved well to me in every instance but one, and there
they have become tattlers, and inquisitors into my con-
duct: spymg upon a secret I would rather die than
share it with any body’s confidence. For this I cannot
wish them w^ell, I care not to see any of them again. If
I am the Theme, I will not be tke Friend of idle Gossips.
Good gods what a shame it is our Loves should be so
put into the microscope of a Coterie. Their laughs
should not affect you (I may perhaps give you reasons
some day for these laughs, for I suspect a few people to
hate me well enough, for reasons I know of who have
pretended a great friendship for me) when in com-
petition with one, who if he never should see you again
would make you the Saint of his memory. These
Laughers, who do not like you, who envy you for your
Beauty, who would have God-bless’d me from you for
ever: who were plying me with disencouragements with
respect to you eternally. People are revengeful — do not
mind them — do nothing but love me — ^if I knew that
for certain life and health will in such event be a heaven,

545

Letter 2 1 2 July

and death itself will be less painful. I long to believe in
immortality. I shall never be able to bid you an entire "
farewell. If I am destined to be happy with you here — '
how short is the longest Life. I wish to believe in
immortality^ — I wish to live with you for ever. Do not
let my name ever pass between you and those laughers,
if I have no other merit than the great Love for you,
that were sufficient to keep me sacred and unmentioned
in such Society. If I have been cruel and unjust I swear
my love has ever been greater than my cruelty which
^vlast[s] but a minute whereas my Love come what will
shall last for ever. If concession to me has hurt your
Pride, god knows I have had little pride in my heart
when thinking of you. Your name never passes my Lips
— do not let mine pass yours. Those People do not like
me. After reading my Letter [if] you even then wish to see
me, I am strong enough to walk over — but I dare not.

I shall feel so much pain in parting with you again. My
dearest love, I am affraid to see you, I am strong, but
not strong enough to see you. Will my arm be ever
round you again. And if so shall I be obliged to leave
you again. My sweet Love! I am happy whilst I
believe your first Letter. Let me be but certain that you
are mine heart and soul, and I could die more happily
than I could otherwise live. If you think me cruel — ^if
you think I have sleighted you — do muse it over again
and see into my heart. My Love to you is 'true as truth’s
simplicity and simpler than the infancy of truth’^ as I
think I once said before. How could I slight you?
How threaten to leave you? not in the spirit of a Threat
to you — no — but in the spirit of Wretchedness in myself.
My fairest, my delicious, my angel Fanny! do not
believe me such a vulgar fellow. I will be as patient in
illness and as believing in Love as I am able.

Yours for ever my dearest

John Keats.

^ Cf. Letter 93, p. 266.

® No apology is necessary for quoting here the relative passage

546

i 820

Letter 2 r 3

Q13. To FANNY BRAWKE,

[Kentish Town, August 1820?]

I do not write this till the last
that no eye may catch it.^

My dearest Girl,

I wish you could invent some means to make me at
all happy without you. Every hour I am more and

from the play so much read by Keats, ‘ Troilus and Cressida’,
m. ii. 165-77:

0 that I thought it could be in a woman —

As, if it can, I will presume in you —

To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love;

To keep her constancy in plight and youth,

Outliving beauty’s outward, with a mind
That doth renew swifter than blood decays !

Or that persuasion could but thus convince me,

That my integrity and truth to you

Might be aflBronted with the match and weight

Of such a winnow’d purity in love;

How were I then uplifted ! but, alas 1

1 am as true as truth’s simplicity
And simpler than the infancy of truth.

Cf. the reference to Cressida in Letter 166. Dr. Caroline
Spurgeon shows that 11, 174 and 176-7 were underlined by Keats
in his Shakespeare.

213. This letter is entirely without address.

* This seems to mean that he wrote the letter to the end, and
then filled in the words ‘My dearest Girl’, left out lest any one
coming near him should chance to see them. These words are
written more heavily than the beginning of the letter, and indicate
a state of pen corresponding with that shown by the w’ords ‘God
bless you’ at the end. Probably the tone of this letter may have
had something to do with the return of Keats to Wentworth Place
instead of Well Walk when the letter-opening affair at Hunt’s
(Letter 2 1 5) induced him to insist on leaving Kentish Town. It
seems likely that this was the last letter Keats ever wrote to
Fanny Brawne; for Mr. Severn told me that his friend was
absolutely unable to write to her either on the voyage or in Italy.
To her mother, he wrote from Naples the letter given here
numbered 225, adding a few pathetic wnrds of farew^ell to Fanny
herself.

547

Letter 21^ August

more concentrated in you; every thing else tastes like
chaff in my Mouth. I feel it almost impossible to go to
Italy — the fact is I cannot leave you, and shall never
taste one minute’s content until it pleases chance to let
me live with you for good. But I will not go on at this
rate. A person in health as you are can have no con-
ception of the horrors that nerves and a temper like
mine go through. What Island do your friends propose
retiring to? I should be happy to go with you there
alone, but in company I should object to it; the back-
bitings and jealousies of new colonists who have nothing
else to amuse themselves, is unbearable. Dilke came
to see me yesterday, and gave me a very great deal more
pain than pleasure. I shall never be able any more to
endure the society of any of those who used to meet at
Elm Cottage and Wentworth Place. The last two years
taste like brass upon my Palate.^ If I cannot live with
you I will live alone. I do not think my health will
improve much while I am separated from you. For all
this I am averse to seeing you — I cannot bear flashes of
light and return into my glooms again. I am not so
unhappy now as I should be if I had seen you yesterday.
To be happy with you seems such an impossibility! it
requires a luckier Star than mine! it will never be.
I enclose a passage from one of your letters which I want
you to alter a little — I want (if you will have it so) the
matter express’d less coldly to me. If my health would
bear it, I could write a Poem which I have in my head,
which would be a consolation for people in such a
situation as mine. I would show some one in Love as
I am, with a person living in such Liberty as you do.
Shakespeare always sums up matters in the most
sovereign manner. Hamlet’s heart was full of such
Misery as mine is when he said to Ophelia ^Go to a

* Compaxe this striking phrase with Hyperion’s experience
(Book I, lines 188-9) —

Instead of sweets, his ample palate took
Savour of poisonous brass and metal sick: . . .

548

i 820

Letter 2 1 4

Nunner>^ go, go!=^ Indeed I should Uke to give up the
matter at once — I should like to die. I am sickened at
the brute world which you are smiling with. I hate men,
and women more. I see nothing but thorns for the
future — ^wherever I may be next winter, in Italy or
^ nowhere, Brown will be li\ing near you with his
indecencies. I see no prospect of any rest. Suppose me
in Rome — ^well, I should there see you as in a magic

glass going to and from town at all hours, I

wish you could infuse a little confidence of human
nature into my heart. I cannot muster any— the world
is too brutal for me — I am glad there is such a thing as
the grave — I am sure I shaJl never have any rest till I
get there. At any rate I will indulge myself by never
seeing any more Dilke or Brown or any of their Friends.
I wish I was either in your arms full of faith or that
a Thimder bolt would strike me.

God bless you.

J. K.

214. To BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

Mrs. Brawne’s Next door to Brown’s Wentworth Place

Hampstead [August] 1820.

My dear Haydon,

I am much better this morning, than I was when
I wrote you the note, that is my hopes and spirits are
better which are generally at a very low ebb from such
a protracted illness, I sh^ be here for a little time and

^ ‘Hamlet’, m. i. 124-158.

214. Probably this note belongs to the 14th of August 1820, as
one of the many Keats was writing that day. Writing of Keats
after his death, Haydon says — ^‘The last time I ever saw him was at
Hampstead, lying in a white bed with a book, hectic and on his
back, irritable at his weakness and wounded at the way he had
been used. He seemed to be going out of life with a contempt for
the world and no hopes of the other. I told him to be calm, but he
muttered that if he did not soon get better he would destroy him-
self. I tried to reason against such \iolence, but it was no use; he
grew angry, and I went away deeply affected.’

n 549

s

Letter 21^ August

at home all and every day. A journey to Italy is re-
commended me, which I have resolved upon and am
beginning to prepare for. Hoping to see you shortly
I remain

Your affectionate friend

John Keats

215. To Miss KEATS, Abbey's Esq^^ Walthamstow.

Wentworth Place [Postmark, 4 o’Clock, 14 August 1820.]

My dear Fanny,

’Tis a long time since I received your last. An
accident of an unpleasant nature occur [r]ed at
Hunt* s and prevented me from answering you, that is
to say made me nervous. That you may not suppose it
worse I will mention that some one of M"" Hunt’s house-
hold opened a Letter of mine — upon which I immedi-
ately left Mortimer Terrace, with the intention of taking
to Bentley’s again; fortunately I am not in so lone

215. The beginning of this letter does not quite explain itself,
as the incident of the opened letter at Hunt’s had occurred as
recently as the loth of August, and had not been known by Keats
till the 1 2th. This is quite clear from Mrs. Gisborne’s manuscript
journal, wherein it is mentioned that the Gisbornes were at Hunt’s
on Thursday the loth, and that the Hunts promised to come to the
Gisbornes on Saturday the 1 2th. On Saturday the i gth ‘ Hunt
came in to tea; she called to apologise for herself and M^* Hunt,
for not having kept their appointment on the Saturday before;
they were prevented by an unpleasant circumstance that happened
to Keats. While we [were] there on Thursday a note was brought
to him after he had retired to his room to repose himself; Hxmt
being occupied with the child desired her upper servant to take it
to him, and thought no more about it. On Friday the servant left
her, and on Saturday Thornton produced this note open (which
contained not a word of the least consequence) , telling his mother
that the servant had given it him before she left the house with
injunctions not to shew it to his mother till the following day. Poor
Keats was affected by this inconceivable circumstance beyond
what^ can be imagined; he wept for several hours, and resolved,
notwithstanding Hunt’s entreaties, to leave the house; he went to
Hampstead that same evening.*

550

1 Sso Letter 2 1 6

a situation, but am staying a short time with Brawne
who lives in the House which was Dilke’s. I am
excessively nerv^ous: a person I am not quite used to
entering the room half choaks me. ’Tis not yet Con-
sumption I believe, but it would be w'ere I to remain in
this climate all the Winter: so I am thinking of either
voyaging or travelling to Italy. Yesterday I received
an invitation from Shelley, a Gentleman residing at
Pisa, to spend the Winter with him: if I go I must be
aw^ay in a Month or even less. I am glad you like the
Poems, you must hope with me that time and health
will pro[duce] you some more. This is the first morning
I have been able to sit to the paper and have many
Letters to write if I can manage them. God bless you
my dear Sister.

Your affectionate Brother,

John —

216. To PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

Hampstead, August 1820.

My dear Shelley,

I am very' much gratified that you, in a foreign
country, and with a mind almost overoccupied, should
write to me in the strain of the letter beside me. If I do
not take advantage of your imitation, it will be pre-
vented by a circumstance I have very much at heart to

216. As to the date and place inscribed at the head of this letter,
some explanation must be offered. In the ‘Shelley Memorials’ it
is fully dated the loth of August, Now Keats had not on the loth
of August returned to Hampstead; and according to his letter of
the 14th to his sister he only received Shelley’s invitation on the
13th. As the 14th was the first day he had sat down to write since
his recent attack, that is the earliest date assignable to the reply;
and this to Shelley was probably one of the several letters he had
to write that day. As internal evidence, compare the phrase
‘marches up to a battery’ with the similar expression in Letter 2 1 7
to Taylor, which is postmarked i4August; butit seems safer to leave
the day blank for the present. Shelley’s letter written at Pisa on the
27th of July should in the natural course, if posted at once, have

551 S 2

Letter 216 August

prophesy. There is no doubt that an English winter
would put an end to me, and do so in a lingering, hate-
ful manner. Therefore, I must either voyage or journey
to Italy, as a soldier marches up to a battery. My
nerves at present are the worst part of me, yet they feel

reached Keats about a fortnight later, and would probably be
answered promptly. It is as follows: —

Pisa, 27th July, 1820.

My dear Keats,

I hear with great pain the dangerous accident you have under-
gone, and Gisborne, who gives me the accoxmt of it, adds that
you continue to wear a consumptive appearance. This consump-
tion is a disease particularly fond of people who write such good
verses as you have done, and with the assistance of an English
winter it can often indulge its selection. I do not think that young
and amiable poets are bound to gratify its taste; they have entered
into no bond with the muses to that effect. But seriously (for I am
joking on what I am very anxious about) I think you would do
well to pass the winter in Italy and avoid so tremendous an
accident, and if you think it as necessary as I do, so long as you
continue to find Pisa or its neighbourhood agreeable to you,
Shelley unites with myself in urging the request that you
would take up your residence with us. You might come by sea to
Leghorn (France is not worth seeing, and the sea is particularly
good for weak lungs) , which is within a few miles of us. You ought,
at all events, to see Italy, and your health, which I suggest as a
motive, may be an excuse to you. I spare declamation about the
statues, and paintings, and ruins, and what is a greater piece of
forbearance, about the moimtains and streams, the fields, the
colours of the sky, and the sky itself.

I have lately read your ‘Endymion’ again, and even with a new
sense of the treasures of poetry it contains, though treasures poured
forth with indistinct profusion. This people in general will not
endure, and that is the cause of the comparatively few copies which
have been sold. I feel persuaded that you are capable of the greatest
things, so you but wiU. I always tell Ollier to send you copies of my
books. ‘Prometheus Unboimd’ I imagine you will receive nearly
at the same time with this letter. ‘The Genci’ I hope you have
already received — it was studiously composed in a different style.

Below the good how far! but far above the great!

In poetry I have sought to avoid system and mannerism. I wish
those who excel me in genius would pursue the same plan.

Whether you remain in England, or journey to Italy, believe
that you carry with you my anxious wishes for yoxir health,

552

iS20 Letter 21^

soothed that, come what extreme may, I shall not be
destined to remain in one spot long enough to take a
hatred of any four particular bedposts. I am glad you
take any pleasure in my poor poem, which I would
willingly take the trouble to unwrite, if possible, did
I care so much as I have done about reputation. I re-
ceived a copy of the Cenci^ as from yourself, from Hunt.
There is only one part of it I am judge of— the poetry*
and dramatic effect, which by many spirits now-a-days
is considered the Mammon. A modem work, it is said,
must have a purpose, which may be the God. An artist
must serve Mammon; he must have ^self-concentration’
— selfishness, perhaps. You, I am sure, will forgive me
for sincerely remarking that you might curb your
magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every
rift of your subject with ore.^ The thought of such dis-
cipline must fall like cold chains upon you, who perhaps
never sat with your wings furled for six months together.
And is not this extraordinary^ talk for the writer of
Endymion^ w hose jiund. was like a pack of scattered cards?
I am picked up and sorted to a pip. My imagination“is
a monastery, and I am its monk. I am in expectation of
Frometheus every day. Could I have my o\m wish
effected, you would have it still in manuscript, or be
but now putting an end to the second act. I remember
you advising me not to publish my first blights, on

happiness, and success wherever you are, or whatever you under-
take, and that 1 am,

Yours sincerely,

P. B. Shelley.

On the I ith of November 1820 Shelley wrote to Leigh Hunt:

‘Where is Keats now? I am anxiously expecting him in Italy,
when I shall take care to bestow every possible attention on him.
I consider his a most valuable life, and I am deeply interested in
his safety. I intend to be the physician both of his body and his
soul, to keep the one warm, and to teach the other Greek and
Spanish. I am aware, indeed, in part, that I am nourishing a riv^
who will far surpass me; and this is an additional motive, and will
be an added pleasure,*

* Cf. Spenser, ‘Faerie Queene’, n. vii. 28. 1 . 5.

553

Letter 21^ August

Hampstead Heath. I am returning advice upon your
hands. Most of the poems in the volume I send you*
have been written above two years, and would never
have been published but for hope of gain; so you see
I am inclined enough to take your advice now. I must
express once more my deep sense of your kindness,
adding my sincere thanks and respects for Shelley.
In the hope of soon seeing you,

I remain most sincerely yours,

John Keats.

217. To JOHN TAYLOR Esq^® Taylor and Hessey Book-
sellers Fleet Street

Wentworth Place, Sat^. Morn. [Postmark, 14 August 1820].
My dear Taylor,

My Chest is in so nervous a State, that any thing extra
such as speaking to an unaccostomed [sic] Person or
writing a Note half suffocates me. This Journey to
Italy wakes me at daylight every morning and haunts
me horribly. I shall endeavour to go though it be with
the sensation of marching up against a Batterry [sic].^
The first spep [for step] towards it is to know the expense
of a Journey and a years residence: which if you will
ascertain for me and let me know early you will greatly
serve me. I have more to say but must desist for every
line I write encreases the tightness of the Chest, and
I have many more to do. I am convinced that this sort
of thing does not continue for nothing — If you can
come with any of our friends do.

Your sincere friend

John Keats —

* ‘Lamia, Isabella’, &c., a copy of which, belonging to Hunt,
was found doubled back in the drowned Shelley’s pocket, and. was
cast by Hunt upon the burning relics of his friend.

2 This characteristic expression, which occurs in almost the
same words in the foregoing letter to Shelley (No. 216), may be
compared with a somewhat similar one in Letter 1 34, p. 402, where
Keats ^writes to Fanny Brawne that he can ‘no more use soothing
words’ to her than if he were ‘engaged in a charge of Cavalry’.

554

i 820

Letter 218

218. To BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON.

[Wentworth Place, 14 August 1820.I

My dear Haydon,

I am sorry to be obliged to tr>^ your patience a few
more days when you will have the Book sent from Town.
I am glad to hear you are in progress with another

218. This pathetic little note, the manuscript of which is
preserved in Haydon^s journal without date, superscription, or
address, is almost certainly a reply to the two following letters.
The picture referred to is recorded by Frederick Haydon to have
been the Lazarus now in the Tate Gallery. The first of Haydon’s
two letters appears to have been written in Keats’s lodgings at
Kentish Town towards the end of his stay in them; for beside the
internal evidence that Haydon had come over and found his friend
out, there is the fact that the latter is only addr^ed ‘John Keats
Esq’, and is written on a piece of the same paper that Keats was
using — a different paper from that used by Haydon:

My dear Keats,

I have been coming every day for months to see you, and
determined this morning as I heaird you were still ill or worse to
walk over in spite of all pestering hindrances. I regret my very
dear Keats to find by your landlady’s account that you are very
poorly. I hope you have Darling’s ad\’ice, on whose slsill I have the
greatest reliance — certainly I was as bad as anybody could be, and
I have recovered, therefore, I hope, indeed I have no doubt, you
will ultimately get round again, if you attend strictly to yourself,
and avoid cold and night air. — I wish you would write me a line
to say how you really are. — I have been sitting for some little time
in yotir Lodgings, which are clean, airy, and quiet. I wish to God
you were sitting with me — I am sorry to hear Himt has been laid
up too — take care of yourself my dear Keats.

Believe me

Ever most affectionately and sincerely
your friend

B. R. Haydon.

The second letter, which has the year-date very indistinctly
written, but which must belong to 1820, as Keats’s 1817 volume
of poems was ready long before July 1817, gives us the precise
locality of the lodgings, for it is addressed ‘John Keats Esq,
Wesleyan Place, Kentish Town’ — ^whence it is to be presumed

555

Letter 21Q August

Picture. Go on. I am afraid I shall pop off just when
I \for my] mind is able to run alone.

Your sincere friend

John Keats

219, JOHN TAYLOR.

Wentworth Place [Postmarky 14 August 1820].

My dear Taylor —

I do not think I mentioned any thing of a Passage to
Leghorn by Sea. Will you join that to your enquiries,
and, if you can, give a peep at the Birth [sic^ if the Vessel
is in our river?

Your sincere friend

John Keats
over

P.S. Some how a Copy of Chapman’s Homer, lent
to me by Haydon, has disappeared from my Lodgings
— ^it has quite flown I am affraid, and Haydon urges the
return of it so that I must get one at Longman’s and
send it to Lisson grove — or you must — or as I have
given you a job on the River — ask Mistessey.^ I had
written a Note to this effect to Hessey some time since
but crumpled it up in hopes that the Book might come

Haydon did not know that Keats had removed in the meantime
to Mortimer Terrace: —

My dear Keats,

When I called the other morning, I did not know your Poems
were out, or I should have read them before I came in order to teU
you my opinion — I have done so since, and really I cannot tell you
how very highly I estimate them — they justify the assertions of all
your Friends regarding your poetical powers. I can assure you,
whatever you may do, you will not exceed my opinion of them.
Have you done with Chapman’s Homer? I want it very badly at
this moment; will you let the bearer have it, as well as let me know
how you are?

I am dear Keats
ever yours

July 14 1820. B. R. Haydon.

^ Mr. Hessey.

556

iSso Letter 21^

to Light. This morning Haydon has sent another
messenger. The Copy was in good condition, with the
head. Damn all thieves! Tell Woodhouse I have not
lost his Blackwood.

Taylor endorsed this letter as follows: —

Tnclosed in this Letter I received a Testamentary Paper in John
Keats’s Handwriting without Date on which I have endorsed a
Memorandum to this effect for the purpose of identif\’ing it, & for
better Security it is hereunto annexed

John Taylor.’

22 Sep 1820

[Testamentary Paperl

My Chest of Books divide among my friends.^

In case of my death this scrap of Paper may be
servic[e]able in your possession.

^ Whether this testamentary wish was carried out I do not know;
but, from the following passage in a letter of George Keats’s dated
the 20th of April 1825, it seems likely that it was: — ‘Since it has
fallen on me to pay my Brother’s debts I should in Justice have
some books or other relicks he may have left behind him. My
conduct has been liberally censtired, I have been industriously
made acquainted with demands against the estate but not a single
volume. Picture, bust, Cast — ^is reserved for me, who I have no
hesitation in saying am more nearly allied to poor John in feeling
as I am more closely connected in Blood than any other in the
whole circle of his Friendships. . . . Those effects in the possession
of Friends who value them as having been once John’s are most
heartily welcome to them, I however hope some trifles may be
collected for me so that I be not left entirely relickless !’

The Shakespeare folio of 1808, containing his manuscript notes
and the Sonnet on sitting down to read ‘Kmg Lear’ once again,
was in Mrs. Lindon’s possession up to the time of her death; and
the Shakespeare’s Poems containing Keats’s last sonnet w^as
similarly guarded by Severn. Both became the property of Sir
Charles Eflike, and are now in the Dflke Collection at Hampstead
with other of his Keats relics. These include a folio Livy with the
inscription ‘B. Bailey, Magdalen Hall, Oxon, presents this volume
to his friend John Keats, July 1818’; a much damaged copy of
Bacon’s ‘Advancement of Learning’, possessed by Keats when
young, and containing many manuscript notes; a copy of Lem-
priere’s Classical Dictionary formerly Keats’s but without his
autograph; an Ovid of 1806 with his autograph; the Milton which
he annotated and gave to Mrs. Dilke; and the Beaiunont and

557

Letter 220 August

All my estate real and personal consists in the hopes
of the sale of books publish'd or unpublish’d. Now I
wish Brown and you to be the first paid Creditors — the
rest is in nubibus — but in case it should shower pay my
Taylor the few pounds I owe him.

The endorsement on the Testamentary Paper runs thus: —

‘N.B. On the 14^ August or the 15*^ 1820 I received this paper
which is in John Keats’s Handwriting inclosed in the annexed
letter which came by the 3*^^ Post.

22 Sept 1820 John Taylor’

220. To CHARLES BROWN.

My dear Brown,

You may not have heard from , or , or in

any way, that an attack of spitting of blood, and all its

Fletcher volumes given to Keats by his brother George. These are
three volumes out of a set of four containing the dramatic works of
Ben Jonson and Beaumont and Fletcher. Volume ii has the
inscription ‘Geo. Keats to his affectionate brother John’; and in
Volume iv are the holograph poems ‘Bards of Passion and of Mirth’
and ‘Spirit here that reignest’. The volumes accompanied Brown
to New Zealand, as did the annotated copy of Burton’s ‘Anatomy’,
Volume ii only, which is also in the Dilke Collection. They were
sent to Sir Charles Dilke by Brown’s son. Major Charles Brown of
Taranaki.

Now and again books formerly owned by Keats fall into the
hands of collectors; but it is not often that they are to be had.
Some sixty years ago a copy of Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary
bearing his autograph was acquired for a trifle by one who did not
value it much, and who is now dead. Where the book is I know not.
It would seem, however, that he miist have had two copies in his
time. In the Buxton Forman collection, besides the little Dante
and Hunt’s Foliage given by Keats to Fanny Brawne, and therefore
not left in the Chest, was a beautiful folio which probably was from
the Chest. It is of the third edition of Selden’s Titles of Honour
(1672), has the autograph ‘John Keats 1819’ on the title-page, and
more interesting, the commencement of a manuscript index. On
a blank leaf at the beginning he has made a complete set of capitals,
duly spaced out for the entries to be added; but only two entries
were made.

220. This letter, which first appeared in Papers of a Critic
(i. 9, 10), clearly belongs to the latter part of August. If Keats

558

iSso

Letter 220

weakening consequences, has prevented me from
writing for so long a time. I have matter now for a very
long letter, but not news: so I must cut ever\i:hmg short.
I shall make some confession, which you will be the
only person, for many reasons, I shall trust wdth. A
winter in England would, I have not a doubt, kill me;
so I have resolved to go to Italy, either by sea or land.
Not that I have any great hopes of that, for, I think,
there is a core of disease in me not easy to pull out. . . .
If I should die .... I shall be obliged to set off in less
than a month. Do not, my dear Brown, teaze yourself
about me. You must fill up your time as well as you
can, and as happily. You must think of my faults as
lightly as you can. When I have health I will bring up
the long arrears of letters I ow^e you. . . . My book has
had good success among the literary people, and I
believe has a moderate sale. I have seen veiy^ few

people we know. has visited me more than any

one. I would go to and make some inquiries after

you, if I could with any bearable sensation; but a person

heard from Shelley on the 13th, as indicated in his letter of the
14th to Fanny Keats, it may reasonably be supposed that the
letter to Browm was WTitten about the 20th of August 1820 from
Hampstead. Referring to the last sentence but one, it is to be
recorded that, on Keats’s return from Kentish Town, Hunt sent
him the following letter from Mortimer Terrace, addressed to
Brawn[e]’s, Wentworth Place’: —

Giovan[n]i Mio,

I shall see you this afternoon, & most probably every day. You
judge r^htly when you think I shall be glad at your putting up
awhile where you are, instead of that solitary place. There are
humanities in the house; & if wisdom loves to live with children
round her knees (the tax-gatherer apart), sick wisdom, I think,
should love to live with arms about it’s wnist. I need not say how^
you gratify me by the impulse that led you to wrrite a particiilar
sentence in your letter, for you must have seen by this time howr
much I am attached to yourself.

I am indicating at as dull a rate as a battered finger-post in wet
weather. Not that I am ill: for I am very well altogether.

Your affectionate friend,
Leigh Hunt.

559

Letter 221 August

I am not quite used to causes an oppression on my chest.
Last week I received a letter from Shelley, at Pisa, of
a very kind nature, asking me to pass the winter with
him. Hunt has behaved very kindly to me. You shall
hear from me again shortly.

Your affectionate friend

John Keats

221. To Miss KEATS, Abbey’s Esq^^ Walthamstow,

Wentworth Place Wednesday Morning
[Postmark^ 23 August 1820.]

My dear Fanny,

It will give me great Pleasure to see you here, if you
can contrive it; though I confess I should have written
instead of calling upon you before I set out on my
journey, from the wish of avoiding unpleasant partings.
Meantime I will just notice some parts of your Letter.
The Seal-breaking business is overblown. I think no
more of it. A few days ago I wrote to M^ Brown, asking
him to befriend me with his company to Rome. His
answer is not yet come, and I do not know when it will,
not being certain how far he may be from the Post
Office to which my communication is addressed. Let
us hope he will go with me. George certainly ought to
have written to you: his troubles, anxieties and fatigues
are not quite a sufficient excuse. In the course of time
you wiU be sure to find that this neglect, is not forget-
fulness.^ I am sorry to hear you have been so ill and in

^ That George Keats was not unmindful of his sister there is
evidence in a letter from him to her a copy of which I have found
among my father’s papers. This letter was begun at Louisville on
the 25th of May 1820 and not despatched until after the 6th of
January 1821, when the following explanation was added: —

‘I wrote the enclosed for a private opportunity of which I was
disappointed. I have now another. You have now my dear Fanny
another niece, she was born on the i8th of December. See how
fast I am becoming an old man your sister and child are both well.
I am informed you feel disappointed at not hearing from me, the
date of this will show you, you were not forgotten, nor vdll you

560

i 820

Letter 221

such low spirits. Now you are better, keep so. Do not
suffer your Mind to dwell on unpleasant reflections—-
that sort of thing has been the destruction of my health.
Nothing is so bad as want of health — it makes one en\w
Scavengers and Cinder-sifters. There are enough real
distresses and evils in wait for eveiy- one to trv' the most
\dgorous health. Not that I would say yours are not
real — but they are such as to tempt you to employ your
imagination on them, rather than endeavour to dismiss
them entirely. Do not diet your mind with grief, it
destroys the constitution; but let your chief care be of
your health, and with that you will meet with your
share of Pleasure in the world — do not doubt it. If
I return well from Italy I will turn over a new leaf for
you. I have been impro\ing lately, and have veiy^ good
hopes of ‘turning a Neuk" and cheating the Consump-
tion. I am not well enough to write to George myself—

ever be forgotten altho’ you may not hear from me very frequently,
my letter could only inform if we are well or ill, with politics you
cannot be interested, what then must make up my epistles when
the chances of the posts and the necessary distance of time between
writing each letter will make a regular correspondence or inter-
change of ideas so difficult if not impossible. I should be more
anxious to keep up a frequent communication by letter, if I did
not one day expect to give you assurances of my affection in Person.
Your entire leisure may make this appear a mere evasion, that
a letter is easily written, but you will find it otherwise when you
may have constant and perhaps important occupation. I have by
me copies of letters of immense length built on nothing and written
without trouble, but now my mind after a certain stretch will
revert to my daily avocation, and writing letters instead of being
as formerly a pleasure is now become a task. Under these feelings
I procrastinate untill it seems almost useless to write; after haring
delayed writing six months another delay of a month seems nothing.
I don’t pretend to say that this is sufficient excuse for not writing,
but you will see that my silence is not a w^nt of affection, and that
I am still altho lazy

Your very affectionate Brother

George.

I hope to have time to write to John in this packet. Your Sisters
love.’

561

Letter 222 August

Haslam^ will do it for me, to whom I shall write
to day, desiring him to mention as gently as possible
your complaint. I am my dear Fanny

Your affectionate Brother
John.

222. To CHARLES BROWN.

[Wentworth Place, August 1820.]

My dear Brown,

.... I ought to be off at the end of this week, as the
cold winds begin to blow towards evening; — but I will
wait till I have your answer to this. I am to be intro-
duced, before I set out, to a Clark, a physician
settled at Rome, who promises to befriend me in every-
way there. The sale of my book is very slow, though it
has been very highly rated. One of the causes, I under-
stand from different quarters, of the unpopularity of
this new book, and the others also, is the offence the
ladies take at me. On thinking that matter over, I am
certain that I have said nothing in a spirit to displease
any woman I would care to please; but still there is a
tendency to class women in my books with roses and
sweetmeats, — they never see themselves dominant. If
ever I come to publish ‘Lucy Vaughan Lloyd, there will

^ Not, one would have thought, an over fortunate choice, seeing
that Haslam was under monetary obligations to George Keats (see
Letter 147, p. 458), and had already shown a not very reassuring
attitude in tearing up a letter from George entrusted to him by
John (Letter 117, p. 372).

222. The date upon wliich Keats left Hampstead on his journey
to Italy is somewhat doubtful. He possessed and used a copy of
Leigh Hunt’s ‘Literary Pocket-book’ for 1819, which he left in the
possession of Miss Brawne; and she also wrote memoranda in it.
These latter were probably written in 1820; and one, imder the
8th of September, is ‘Mr. Keats left Hampstead’. On the 8th of
September 1 8 1 9 he was at Winchester. On the other hand the 1 8th
of September 1820 is the date recorded at Lloyd’s as that of the
departure of the ‘Maria Crowther’, on board which Keats and
Severn left London. The ‘Literary Pocket-book’ is now in the
Dilke Collection at Hampstead.

* i. e. ‘The Gap and Bells’, cf. Letter 207, p. 537.

562

Letter 223

be some delicate picking for squeamish stomachs. I will
say no more, but, waiting in anxietv^ for your answer,
doff my hat, and make a purse as long as I can.

Your affectionate friend,

John Keats.

223, To —

[September 1820.]

The passport arrived before we started I dont think
I shall be long ill. God bless you — ^farewell.

John Keats

224. To CHARLES BROWN Wentworth Place Hamp-
stead Middx,

Saturday Sepf 28 ^ [1820]
Maria Crowther off Yarmouth isle of wight.

My dear Brown,

The time has not yet come for a pleasant Letter from
me. I have delayed writing to you from time to time
because I felt how impossible it was to enliven you with
one heartening hope of my recovery; this morning in
bed the matter struck me in a different manner; I
thought I would write * while I was in some liking’^ or
I might become too ill to write at all and then if the
desire to have written should become strong it would
be a great affliction to me. I have many more Letters
to write and I bless my stars that I have begun, for time
seems to press, — this may be my best opportunity. W' e
are in a calm and I am easy enough this morning. If
my spirits seem too low you may in some degree impute
it to our having been at sea a fortnight without making
any way. I was very disappointed at not meeting you

223. The scrap of paper with these few words written upon it
bears no date, address, or other indication as to what point of his
journey Keats had reached when he wrote it, or for whom it was
destin^.

* The 28th was a Thursday.

563

» Cf. ‘i Henry m. iii. 6.

Letter 224 September

at bedhamption [izV], and am very provoked at the
thought of you being at Chichester to day.^ I should
have delighted in setting off for London for the sensation
merely — for what should I do there? I could not leave
my lungs or stomach or other worse things behind me.
I wish to write on subjects that will not agitate me much
— there is one I must mention and have done with it.
Even if my body would recover of itself, this would
prevent it. The very thing which I want to live most
for will be a great occasion of my death. I cannot help
it. Who can help it? Were I in health it would make
me ill, and how can I bear it in my state? I dare say
you will be able to guess on what subject I am harping
— ^you know what was my greatest pain during the first
part of my illness at your house. I wish for death every
day and night to deliver me from these pains, and then
I wish death away, for death would destroy even those
pains which are better than nothing. Land and Sea,
weakness and decline are great seperators \sic\^ but
death is the great divorcer for ever. When the pang of
this thought has passed through my mind, I may say the
bitterness of death is passed. I often wish for you that
you might flatter me with the best. I think without my
mentioning it for my sake you would be a friend to
Miss Brawne when I am dead. You think she has many

faults — but, for my sake, think she has not one ^if

there is any thing you can do for her by word or deed I
know you will do it. I am in a state at present in which
woman merely as woman can have no more power over
me than stocks and stones, and yet the difference of my
sensations with respect to Miss Brawne and my sister is
amazing. The one seems to absorb the other to a degree

* Lord Houghton records that, ‘when Keats’s ship was driven
back into Portsmouth by stress of weather, Brown was staying
in the neighbourhood within ten miles, when Keats landed and
spent a day on shore’. C. W. Dilke adds, ‘when Keats landed
and went to my sisters [M^ Snook’s] at Bedhampton — ^Brown
was staying at my father’s at Chichester’.

564

1 820 Letter 224

incredible. I seldom think of my Brother and Sister in
america. The thought of leaving Miss Brawne is beyond
every^ thing horrible — the sense of darkness coming over
me — I eternally see her figure eternally vanishing.
Some of the phrases she was in the habit of using during
my last nursing at Wentworth place ring in my ears. Is
there another Life? Shall I awake and find all this a
dream ? There must be [ — we cannot be created for this
sort of suffering. The receiving this letter is to be one of
yours. I will say nothing about our friendship or rather
yours to me more than that as you deserve to escape
you will never be so unhappy as I am. I should think
of— you in my last moments. I shall endeavour to write
to Miss Brawne if possible to day. A sudden stop to my
life in the middle of one of these Letters would be no
bad thing for it keeps one in a sort of fever awhile.
Though fatigued with a Letter longer than any I have
written for a long while it would be better to go on for
ever than awake to a sense of contrary winds. We
expect to put into Portland roads to night. The Capt^
the Crew and the Passengers are all ill-temper’d and
weary. I shall write to dilke. I feel as if I was closing
my last letter to you.^

My dear Brown

Your affectionate friend

John Keats

* The following paragraphs from Lord Houghton’s ‘Life’ &c.
serve to connect this letter with the next:

‘A violent storm in the Bay of Biscay lasted for thirty hours, and
exposed the voyagers to considerable danger. “What awful music !”
cried Severn, as the waves raged against the vessel. “Yes,” said
Keats, as a sudden lurch inundated the cabin, “Water parted from
the sea”. After the tempest had subsided, Keats was reading the
description of the storm in “Don Juan”, and cast the book on the
floor in a transport of indignation. “How horrible an example of
human nature,” he cried, “is this man, who has no pleasure left
him but to gloat over and jeer, at the most awful incidents of life.
Oh! this is a paltry originality, which consists in ma k ing solemn
things gay, and gay things solemn, and yet it will fascinate
thousands, by the very diabolical outrage of their sympathies.

n 565 T

Letter 225 October

225. To BRAWNE, Wentworth Place^ Hampstead^ Middx.,

England.

Oct^ 24 [1820] Naples Harbour.

My dear Brawne,

A few words will tell you what sort of a Passage we
had, and what situation we are in, and few they must
be on account of the Quarantine, our Letters being
liable to be opened for the purpose of fumigation at the
Health Office/ We have to remain in the vessel ten
days and are at present shut in a tier of ships. The sea
air has been beneficial to me about to as great an extent
as squally weather and bad accommodations and pro-
visions has done harm — So I am about as I was — Give
my Love to Fanny and tell her, if I were well there is
enough in this Port of Naples to fill a quire of Paper —
but it looks like a dream — every man who can row his
boat and walk and talk seems a different being from
myself. I do not feel in the world. It has been unfortu-
nate for me that one of the Passengers is a young Lady
in a Consumption — her imprudence has vexed me very
much — the knowledge of her complaints^ — the flushings

Byron’s perverted education makes him assume to feel, and try to
impart to others, those depraved sensations which the want of any
education excites in many.”

‘The invalid’s sufferings increased during the latter part of the
voyage and a ten-days’ miserable quarantine at Naples. But, when
once fairly landed and in comfortable quarters, his spirits appeared
somewhat to revive, and the glorious scenery to bring back, at
moments, his old sense of delight. But these transitory gleams,
which the hopeful heart of Severn caught and stored up, were in
truth only remarkable as contrasted with the chronic gloom that
overcame all things, even his love. What other words can tell the
story like his own? What fiction could colour more deeply this
picture of all that is most precious in existence becoming most
painful and destructive? What profounder pathos can the world
of tragedy exhibit than this expression of all that is good and great
in nature writhing impotent in the grasp of an implacable destiny?’

^ The original letter, in the Dilke Collection, is very much dis-
coloured, perhaps through the operations of the Health Office.

^ So in the manuscript, but ‘complaint’ was probably what was
meant.

566

Letkr 225

in her face, all her bad s\Tifiptoms have preyed upon me
— they would have done so had I been in good health.^
Severn now is a very good fellow but his ner\*es are too
strong to be hurt by other peoples illnesses — I re-
member poor Eice wore me in the same way in the isle
of Wight^ — I shall feel a load off me when the Ladv
vanishes out of my sight. It is impossible to describe
exactly in what state of health I am — at this moment
I am suffering from indigestion veiy^ much, which makes
such stuff of this Letter. I would always wish you to
think me a little worse than I really am; not being of
a sanguine disposition I am likely to succeed. If I do
not recover your regret will be softened [ — ]if I do your
pleasure will be doubled — I dare not fix my Mind upon
Fanny, I have not dared to think of her. The only com-
fort I have had that way has been in thinking for hours
together of having the knife she gave me put in a silver-
case — the hair in a Locket — and the Pocket Book in a
gold net. Show her this. I dare say no more. Yet you
must not believe I am so ill as this Letter may look, for
if ever there was a person bom without the faculty of
hoping I am he. Severn is writing to Haslam, and I
have just asked him to request Haslam to send you his
accoxmt of my health. O what an account I could give
you of the Bay of Naples if I could once more feel myself
a Citizen of this world — I feel a spirit in my Brain w^ould
lay it forth pleasantly — O what a misery it is to have an
intellect in splints! My Love again to Fanny — tell
Tootts^ I wish I could pitch her a basket of grapes — and
tell Sam the fellows catch here with a line a little fish
much like an anchovy, pull them up fast. Remember
me to and M^ Dilke — mention to Brown that I

^ Before this letter was published Medwin quoted some half
dozen lines from this part of it, altered to suit the purpose of the
moment, in his Tife of Shelley' (ii, 96). - Cf. pp. 385, 394-5-

3 Margaret Brawne, Fanny’s younger sister, I presume; but I
have no certain knowledge that she bore that pet-name: ‘Sam’
was certainly her brother.

567

T 2

Letter 226 November

wrote him a letter at Port [s] mouth which I did not
send and am in doubt if he ever will see it.

my dear Brawne
Yours sincerely and affectionate
John Keats —

Good bye Fanny! God bless you.

226. To CHARLES BROWN.

Naples, I November [1820].

My dear Brown,

Yesterday we were let out of Quarantine, during
which my health suffered more from bad air and the
stifled cabin than it had done the whole voyage. The
fresh air revived me a little, and I hope I am well
enough this morning to write to you a short calm letter;
— ^if that can be called one, in which I am afraid to
speak of what I would fainest dwell upon. As I have
gone thus far into it, I must go on a little; — ^perhaps it
may relieve the load of WRETCHEDNESS which
presses upon me. The persuasion that I shall see her no
more will kill me. I cannot q — ^ My dear Brown, I
should have had her when I was in health, and I should
have remained well. I can bear to die — I cannot bear
to leave her. O, God 1 God ! God 1 Everything I have in
my trunks that reminds me of her goes through me like
a spear. The silk lining she put in my travelling cap
scalds my head. My imagination is horribly vivid about
her — I see her — I hear her. There is nothing in the
world of sufiicient interest to divert me from her a
moment. This was the case when I was in England;
I cannot recollect, without shuddering, the time that
I was a prisoner at Hunt’s, and used to keep my eyes
fixed on Hampstead all day. Then there was a good

^ Brown makes the following note upon this passage: —

‘He could not go on with this sentence nor even write the word
“quit”,— as I suppose. The word WRETCHEDNESS above he
himself wrote in large characters.’

568

Letter 226

hope of seeing her again — Now!— O that I could be
buried near where she lives ! I am afraid to write to her
— to receive a letter from her — to see her handwriting
would break my heart — even to hear of her anyhow, to
see her name written, would be more than I can bear.
My dear Browm, what am I to do? Where can I look
for consolation or ease? If I had any chance of recoveiy^,
this passion would kill me. Indeed, through the whole
of my illness, both at your house and at Kentish Town,
this fever has never ceased wearing me out. When you
write to me, which you will do immediately, write to
Rome (poste restante ) — ^if she is well and happy, put a
mark thus +; if

Remember me to all. I will endeavour to bear my
miseries patiently. A person in my state of health
should not have such miseries to bear. Write a short
note to my sister, saying you have heard from me.
Severn is very well. If I were in better health I would
urge your coming to Rome. I fear there is no one can
give me any comfort. Is there any news of George? O,
that something fortxmate had ever happened to me or
my brothers! — then I might hope, — but despair is
forced upon me as a habit. My dear Bro\vn, for my
sake, be her advocate for ever. I cannot say a w^ord
about Naples; I do not feel at all concerned in the
thousand novelties around me. I am afraid to write to
her — I should like her to know that I do not forget her.
Oh, Brown, I have coals of fire in my breast. It sur-
prises me that the human heart is capable of cont a i n i n g
and bearing so much misery. Was I bom for this end?
God bless her, and her mother, and my sister, and
George, and his wife, and you, and all!

Your ever affectionate friend,

John Keats.

Thursday [2 November 1820]. — I was a day too early
for the Courier. He sets out now. I have been more
calm to-day, though in a half dread of not continuing

569

Letter 227 November

so. I said nothing of my health; I know nothing of it;
you will hear Severn’s account, from [Haslam]. I must
leave off. You bring my thoughts too near to Fanny.
God bless you!^

227. To CHARLES BROWN.

Rome, 30 November 1820.

My dear Brown,

’Tis the most difficult thing in the world to me to
write a letter. My stomach continues so bad, that I feel

* Lord Houghton adds here: —

‘Little things, that at other times might have been well passed
over, now struck his susceptible imagination with intense disgust.
He could not bear to go to the opera, on account of the sentinels
who stood constantly on the stage, and whom he at first took for
parts of the scenic efect. “We will go at once to Rome,” he said;
“I know my end approaches, and the continual visible tyranny of
this government prevents me from having any peace of mind.
I could not lie quietly here. I will not leave even my bones in the
midst of this despotism.” ’

In an undated holograph letter of Shelley’s to Claire Clairmont
[penes me) there is the following postscript: —

‘Keats is very ill at Naples — I have written to him to ask him to
come to Pisa, without however inviting him into our own house.
We are not rich enough for that sort of thing. Poor fellow!’

The paper on which this postscript is written was originally
destined to go to Keats, for it bears the cancelled words —

My dear Keats,

I learn this moment that you are at Naples and that , . .

Severn told me of a letter ‘of touching interest,’ received by
Keats from Shelley in Italy— a letter which was stolen from Severn
in later years and which I have never succeeded in tracing.

Lord Houghton says: —

‘He had received at Naples a most kind letter from Shelley,
anxiously inquiring about his health, offering him advice as to the
adaptation of diet to the climate, and concluding with an urgent
invitation to Pisa, where he could ensure him every comfort and
attention. But for one circumstance, it is unfortunate that this
offer was not accepted, as it might have spared at least some
annoyances to the sufferer, and much painful responsibility,
extreme anxiety, and unrelieved distress to his friend.’

227. Lord Houghton records that, on arriving at Rome, Keats

570

i 820

Letter 227

it worse on opening any book,— yet I am much better
than I was in quarantine. Then I am afraid to en-
counter the pro-ing and con-ing of anything interesting
to me in England. I have an habitual feeling of my
real life having passed, and that I am leading a posthu-

delivered a letter of introduction to Dr. (afterw’ards Sir James)
Clark. 'The circumstances of the young patient were such as to
ensure compassion from any person of feeling, and perhaps
sympathy and attention from superior minds. But the attention
he received was that of all the skill and knowledge that science
could confer, and the sympathy was of the kind which discharges
the weight of obligation for gratuitous service, and substitutes
affection for benevolence and gratitude. All that wise solicitude
and delicate thoughtfulness could do to light up the dark passages
of mortal sickness and soothe the pillow of the forlorn stranger was
done, and, if that was little, the effort was not the less. In the
history of most professional men this incident might be remarkable,
but it is an ordinary sample of the daily life of this distinguished
physician, who seems to have felt it a moral duty to make his own
scientific eminence the measure of his devotion to the relief and
solace of all men of intellectual pursuits, and to have applied his
beneficence the most effectually to those whose nervous suscepti-
bility renders them the least fit to endure that physical suffering to
which, above all men, they are constantly exposed.

‘The only other introduction Keats had wfth him, was from
Sir T. Lawrence to Ganova, but the time was gone by when even
Art could please, and his shattered nerves refused to convey to his
intelligence the impressions by which a few months before he
would have been rapt into ecstasy. Dr. Clark procured Keats
a lodging in the Piazza di Spa^a, opposite to his own abode; it
was in the first house on your right hand as you ascend the steps
of the “Trinity del Monte”. Rome, at that time, ^vas far from
affording the comforts to the stranger that are now so abundant,
and the violent Italian superstitions respecting the infection of all
dangerous disease, rendered the circumstances of an invalid most
harassing and painful. Suspicion tracked him as he grew worse,
and coimtenances darkened roimd as the world narrowed about
him; ill-will increased just when sympathy was most wanted, and
the essential loneliness of the death-bed was increased by the
alienation of all other men; the last grasp of the swimmer for life
was ruthlessly cast off by his stronger comrade, and the affections
that are wont to survive the body were crushed down in one
common dissolution. At least firom this desolation Keats was saved
by the love and care of Severn and I> Clark.’

571

Letter 227 November

mous existence. God knows how it would have been —
but it appears to me — however, I will not speak of that
subject. I must have been at Bedhampton nearly at the
time you were writing to me from Chichester — how
unfortunate — and to pass on the river too ! There was
my star predominant! I cannot answer anything in
your letter, which followed me from Naples to Rome,
because I am afraid to look it over again. I am so weak
(in mind) that I cannot bear the sight of any hand-
writing of a friend I love so much as I do you. Yet I
ride the little horse, and, at my worst, even in quaran-
tine, summoned up more puns, in a sort of desperation,
in one week than in any year of my life. There is one
thought enough to kill me; I have been well, healthy,
alert, &c., walking with her, and now — the loiowledge
of contrast, feeling for light and shade, all that informa-
tion (primitive sense) necessary for a poem, are great
enemies to the recovery of the stomach. There, you
rogue, I put you to the torture; but you must bring
your philosophy to bear, as I do mine, really, or how
should I be able to live? Dr. Clark is very attentive to
me; he says, there is very little the matter with my lungs,
but my stomach, he says, is very bad. I am well dis-
appointed in hearing good news from George, for it runs
in my head we shall all die young. I have not written
to Reynolds yet, which he must think very neglectful;
being anxious to send him a good account of my health,
I have delayed it from week to week. If I recover, I will
do all in my power to correct the mistakes made during
sickness; and if I should not, all my faults will be for-
given. Severn is very well, though he leads so dull a life
with me. Remember me to all friends, and teU Haslam
I should not have left London without taking leave of
him, but from being so low in body and mind. Write
to George as soon as you receive this, and tell him
how I am, as far as you can guess; and also a note
to my sister — ^who walks about my imagination like
a ghost — she is so like Tom. I can scarcely bid you

572

i 820

Letter 227

good-bye, even in a letter. I always made an awkward
bow.^

God bless you !

John Keats.

^ Of this letter Lord Houghton says:— I have now to give the last
letter of Keats in my possession; probably the last he wrote. One
phrase in the commencement of it became frequent w^th him; he
would continually ask Clark, “WTien will this posthumous life
of mine come to an end?” Yet w^hen this was written, hope w’as
evidently not extinguished within him . .

The following letter, though it bears no address, appears to be
a reply to one from Severn, written three weeks later than the
above: —

Louisville March 3rd i8ai
Sir,

I am obliged for your’s of the Deer 21st informing me that my
Brother is in Rome, and that he is better. The coldness of your
letter explaim itself; I hope John is not impressed with the same
sentiments, it may be an amiable resentment on your part and
you are at liberty to cherish it; whatever errors you may fall into
thro’ kindness for my Brother however injurious to me, are easily
forgiven. I might have reasonably hoped a longer seige of doubts
would be necessary to destroy your good opinion of me. In many
letters of distant and late dates to John, to you and to Haslam
unanswered, I have explained my prospects, my situation. I have
a j&rm faith that John has every dependance on my honour and
affection, and altho’ the chances have gone against me, my dis-
appointments having been just as numerous as my risques, I am
still above water and hope soon to be able to releive him.

I once more thank you most fervently for your kindness to John,
and am Sir

Your Obt Hbl serv

George Keats.

573

ADDENDA

8 a. To C. C. CLARKE Towers Warner Street

Clerkenwell

Hampstead Tuesday aft. [Postmark^ 26 March 1817.]
My dear Charles,

When shall we see each other again? In Heaven or in
Hell, or in deep Places? In crooked Lanes are we to
meet or in Salisbury Plain? or jumbled together at
Drury Lane Door? For my part I know not when it is
to be except that it may be possible to take place at
Novello's tomorrow evening whither Hunt and
myself are going and where Novello requested
Hunt to invite you per letter the which I offered to
do. So we shall meet you there tomorrow evening —
M’' H. has got a great way into a Poem on the Nymphs ^
and has said a number of beautiful things. I have also
written a few Lines and a Sonnet on Rimini^ which
I will copy for you against tomorrow — H. desires
to be remembered to you.

Your’s sincerely

John Keats —

N.B. we shall have a Hymn of H.’s ^ composing
4 voices — go it!

219^. LEIGH HUNT .4

Wentworth Place.

An Amyntas.

You will be glad to hear I am going to delay a little

^ Published in ‘Foliage’, 1818.

^ i. e. on Leigh Hunt’s ‘Story of Rimini’.

^ Cowden Clarke has noted on the original letter, ‘This evidently
should be “N” (Novello)’, but see Mr. H. S. Milford’s note on the
hymn ‘To the Spirit great and good’ in ‘The Poetical Works of
Leigh Hunt’, Oxford University Press, 1923, p. 728, where he
quotes from a letter from Vincent Novello to Hunt, ‘the little hymn-
tune which you composed in 1817’, — adding that he (Novello)
‘notes that the words were written and the melody and bass com-
posed by Leigh Hunt’.

^ This extract is taken from the sale catalogue of the library of

574

ADDENDA

time at M” Brawne’s. I hope to see you whenever you
can get time for I feel really attached to you for your
many sympathies with me, and patience at my liines.
Will you send by the Bearess Lucy Vaughn [5zr] Lloyd ...

2i^b, To B. R. Haydon, Esq.

My dear Haydon ;

I think I am recovering a little, which you should
have heard of before if it was not very irksome to me
to write the shortest note. I am glad you like my
book. At some future time I shall re borrow your
Homer.

Yours ever

John Keats.

Jerome Kem (The Anderson Galleries, New York, January 1929),
where the letter is described as one page octavo, no date, but
attributed to October 1820. There can be little doubt that the
second sentence is the ‘particular sentence* alluded to by Leigh
Hunt in his letter given in the footnote on page 559. I judge that
the letter belongs to the latter half of August 1820, possibly a day
or two after the 14th. The heading ‘An Amyntas’ refers to Himt’s
‘Amyntas, A Tale of the Woods'; from the Italian of Torquato
Tasso’, published in July 1820 and dedicated to Keats.

575

INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF POEMS AND
FRAGMENTS SCATTERED THROUGH THE
LETTERS

A haunting music sole perhaps and lone .

Ah! ken ye what I met the day .

All gentle folks who owe a grudge
As Hermes once took to his feathers light .

Bards of Passion and of Mirth

Chief of organic numbers

Crystalline Brother of the belt of Heaven .

Dear Reynolds! as last night I lay in bed .

Ever let the Fancy roam .

Fame like a wayward girl will still 1 ^ coy
Fanatics have their dreams wherewith they weave
Four Seasons fill the Measure of the year . .

Full many a dreaiy hour have I past
Give me your patience, Sister, while I frame
God of the Meridian . . .

Great spirits now on earth are sojourning .
Happy, happy glowing fire
Hearken, thou craggy ocean pyramid
He is to weet a melancholy Carle
Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port
Here all the summer could I stay
How fever’d is that Man who cannot look
I had a dove and the sweet dove died
I look’d around upon the carved sides
If by dull rhymes our Ei^lish must be chaind
It keeps eternal Whisperings around
Mortal! that thou may’st xmderstand aright
Mother of Hermes! and still youthful Maia!

Muse of my Native Land! Loftiest Muse! .

Nature withheld Cassandra in the skies

No! those days are gone away

Not Alad[d]in magian

Not as a Swordsman would I pardon crave

O blush not so! O blush not so! .

O Goddess hear these tuneless nutnbers, wrung
O golden tongued Romance with serene Lute
O soft embalmer of the stiU midnight
O Sorrow . . • , j

O thou whose face hath felt the Winter s wmd
O what can ail thee Knight at arms
Of late two dainties were before me plac’d
Old she was a Gipsey
Over the hill and over the dale
Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes
Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud

577

VoL

Page

ii

415

i

194

i

202

ii

352

i

288

i

9 ^

i

70

i

134

i

283

ii

365

ii

424

i

121

i

4

i 172,

ii

446

i

100

i

zo

ii

358

i

197

ii

350

i

ZOO

i

126

ii

365

i

289

ii

423

ii

369

i

20

ii

422

i

*53

i

58

i

239

i

104

i 21*8

J W

450

ii

47 *

i

99

ii

387

i

95

ii

366

i

62, 67

i

”3

ii

358

i

204

i

180

i

*33

ii

437

i

227

n

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

Season of Mists and mellow fruitfulness
Souls of Poets dead and gone
Sweet sweet is the greeting of eyes
The Gothic looks solemn .

The Mule no sooner saw himself alone

The Town, the churchyard, and the setting sun

There is a joy in footing slow across a silent plain

There was a naughty Boy

Tis *the witching time of night’ .

Two or three Posies

Upon a Sabbath day it fell

Upon my Life Sir Nevis I am pique’d

Were they unhappy then? — It cannot be .

When I have fears that I may cease to be
When they were come unto the Faery’s Court
Where be ye going, you Devon Maid?

Wherein lies Happiness? In that which becks
Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell

ii 421
i 106
i 174

}. 51

H 349
1 178

i 213
1 181

}. 255
u 316

H 453
1 224

i 149

1 lor

347
1 127

}, 97
343

578

GENERAL INDEX

References to the notes are indicated by the use of italic figures.
References to Shakespearian characters and quotations are indexed
under Shakespeare.

Aaron, ii. 454.

Abbey and Co., ii. 335, 443, 538.

Abbey, Miss, i. 185.

Abbey, Mrs., i, B.M., 83, 185; ii.
316, 377; ‘her foolish tattle*, ii.
531; her reproaches, ii, 530; her
‘unfeeling and ignorant gabble*,
ii- 305; wishes to take Fanny K.
from school, i. 277.

Abbey, Richard, i, B.M., 82, 95,
180, 185, 233, 234, 235, 243,
244, 264; ii. 300, 304, 305, 307,
3135 3145 31S, 335»57^5 3773 3795
380, 404, 408, 434, 438, 462,
464, 467, 470-1, 478, 485, 499,
5045 5133 528, 531; wants to
make K. a hatter, ii. 338, 442.

Abbies, the, ii. 543.

Abbot, William, ii. 334.

Abelard, ii. 445.

Academy, Royal, ii. 474, 480, 482.

Achievement, a man of, needs
Negative Capability, i. 77.

Achilles, i. 38, 120, 262.

‘Acrostic: Geor^ana Augusta
Keats’, i. 172; ii. 445 -^;

Adam’s dream, in ‘Paradise Lost’,
compared to imagination, i. 73.

Addison’s ‘The Drummer*, i. 27.

Adonis, ii. 309.

.£neid, K. translates, i. xxix.

iEtna, i. 142.

Afncan discovery, i. 290,

‘Agonie ennuyeuse’, ii. 259, 300.

Agriculture, influence of, ii. 413.

Aflsa Rock, first sight of, i. 196;

sonnet to, 1. 197.

Aladdin, i. 218; ii. 324, 450.
Alcibiades, i. 139.

Alexander, Emperor, i. 134, 255.
Alfred, i. 31, 120.

‘Alfred, The, West of England
Journal’, Reynolds on K. and
‘The Quarterly’ in, i. /J, 250.
Alice Fell, ii. 355.

Alice, Brown’s story about a
woman named, ii. 320, 325;
referred to, ii. 495.

Allston, Washington, i. 114^ his
‘Uriel’, i. 1 15.

‘ Altham and his Wife’ (C. Ollier) , i.
277*

Amadis of Gaul, i. 35.

Ambleside, i. 169, 171, 172, 175.^

Amena, Wells and, i. xxxiii; ii.
344s 351*

America, contemplated visit to
George in, i. 2ir; ii. 463, 488;
and to South America, ii. 531.

American humanity can never
reach the sublime, i. 255.

American poet, the first, i. 255.

Americans distrusted, ii. 464.

‘Anatomy of Melancholy*, see
Burton.

Andes, the, i. 132.

Andrew's, bliss, ii. 491.

Andromeda, ii. 369.

Angel, The, Islington, ii. 445.

Ann, the maid at Brown’s, i. 291;
ii. 302.

‘Annals of the Fine Arts’, ii. 377,

Anne, the servant at Wmchcster,
ii. 461.

‘A Now, descriptive of a Hot Day’,
i. 140,

‘Antiquary, The’, see Scott, Sir
W^ter.

Antony and Cleopatra, i. 139.

Antony, Mark, compart to
Buonaparte, i. 33.

Apelles, i. 88.

ApoUo, i. 4, 5, 56, 58, 88, 1 13, 122,
173; 355> 446. . ..

Apuleius, the Platomst, u. 307,

‘Arabian Nights, The’, K. reads a
tale from, ii. 390, 590.

Arch Brook, i. 126.

Archer, i. 269, 290.

579

excellence, i. 76.
Arthur’s Seat, i. 201.

Atki^ the coachman, i. 124.

writes from, i.

Audubon, Jobn James, ii. 435, 464,

Audubon, Mrs., ii. 493, 49^,
Augustan ages, ii. 334, 05*7^

Aunt Dinah’s Counterpane’, i. 18
Ausonius, i. js'jS.

Awbrey, Mary (Mrs. Montamiel

verses to, by Mrs. Phaips,i.|8-o

^oms m poetry, i. 116.

Ayr, i 23s; described, i. 190, iq 8
Ayrshire, i. 196. ^ ^

Babbicombe, ‘A clamber over the

the South’, 11. 419.

Babel, Tower of, i. 41, 47.
Babylonians, i. 381.

Bacchus, ii, 324.

Bag-pipe, its effect, i. 204; sonnet
on the, 1, 204.

Bailey, Benjamin, i.57, 48, cq ct

53. 6t, 69, Safsl,

150, 158, 190, 194 337

269; biographical note on, i. xM-
his curacy
‘Oxford

Herald , i. 164; his love affairs,
11-325-7, 400; his penmanship, i.

general

the Pamphleteering,

Archimago, 1 . 35.

Archimedes, i. 38.

Aretino, ii. 465.

Arkdne, ii. 324.

Ariel, i. 43.

Ariosto, i. 129; K. reads, ii. 465;
prefers Chaucer to, ii. 481; d§-
tuse as Spenser, ii. 414.

lyf;

Arran Isle, i. 190.

.yran. Mountains of, i. 196, 108.
Arrears m versifying’ to be cleared,
u. 522. ’

INDEX

with him at
^ intended visit
143; K.’s letters to, i
f^ 8 ,?&. 3 | 9 !'’® 9 ’”«’' 58 ,r 64 ,
Bailey, Mrs., ii. 400.

Bsmantrae, i. ,96; K.’s letter from
1.194. '

Baltimore, i. 221.

Barbara Lewthwaite, ii. 35c.

‘Bar* of Passion and of M&th’ i

2o8, 11. 330. ’ *

Barnes, i. 160.

Barnes, Miss, ii. 333.

24’ ^ Teignmouth,

Bartolozzi, i. 275.

Barton, i. 126.

;Basa, Pot of’, see ‘Isabella’.

Tale of the Magic, ii. 390,

Bassenthwaite, i. 173.

Ba&, n. 436; intended visit to
Barley at, i. 143.

Bat*heba’, by Wilkie, i. 1 1

Boyne’ The’, Ballad,

1. loo. ^

Bay^of Biscay’ K. in storm in, u.

Beatti^ Jpara, K. ou^ows his
poetry, i. 281.

Be^ont and Fletcher, K. reads
<Th® Maid’s Tragedy’, ii. 330;
The False One’, u. 338. .
Beaumont, Sir George Howland
“• 473 . 475 -

Beauty, idenUcal with truth, i -72-
love of, u. 386, 510; only coni
^”387^^ ^'ginning of K.’s love,

Be^ord’s ‘VaAek’, i. 192, 1-92.
Bedh^pton, i. 50; ii. 398, 422
43B.465; joint letter of Bro^n’
^dK.. from, 11.301; K.unweU
at, u. 304; visits John Snook at
U. 300, 317, 322’ 564, 572.

^Tast visited, i. 188, 189, 232.
B^tra, Lady, ii. 453.

Belle Dame sans Merci, La’, ii
356.

' 39 . 194. 201.

Ben Nevis, 1. 194; ascent of, i. 222;
sonnet written on top of, i. 227

GENERAL INDEX

‘Ben Nevis, a Dialogue’, i. 224.

Beneficence the only worthy pur-
suit, i. 146; aspirations after, i.
246.

Benjamin, Nathan (Brown’s ten-
ant), story about, ii. 469.

Bensley, Thomas, i. 22, 22,

Bentley, Benjamin, K.’s landlord
in Well Walk, i. 221, 274; ii, 319, ;
486. I

Bentley, jMrs., i. 75, 221, 221; ii.

3^9> 33^j 344 j 4^59 55^5
noisy children, i* 54, 151, 267;
regrets at leaving, i. 274.

Berne, ii. 398.

Bertrand, General, i. 33.

Bethnal Green, K. walks from
Walthamstow to, i. 268.

Betty Foy, ii. 355.

‘Betty over the Way’, i. 17.

Bewick, William, i. 84, 88, 94, 140;
ii. 345.

Bible, the, i. 258,* ii. 326, 327.

Birkbeck, Morris, i. 255, 267, 273;
ji- 3059 3159 3179 3 i 9 > 327; his
Notes on ajoumey in America’,
ii. 4939 4 g 3 ,

Birkbeck, the Misses, ii. 353.

Birkbeck, young, ii. 314, 343, 365.

Birthday, K.’s, i. xxix, 263, 263,

Birthplace, the ‘flummery’ of a, i.
192.

Bishopsteignton, i. 126,* ii. 374.

‘Blac]^ood’s Edinburgh Maga-
zine’, i. 165, 166, 242, 249, 273;
ii- 3399 3^4^ 428; abuse of confi-
dence, i. 66“; attack on Hunt and
Keats, i. 65-6, 236; Hazlitt’s
proposed action against, i. 236;
supports Hogg D, Bums, ii. 338.

Blackwood, Robert, i. 66.

Blagden, John, ii. 303.

Boating on the Isis, i. 47.

Boccaccio, i. 149; ii. 399.

‘Bombastes Furioso’, i.

Bonchurch described, ii. 385, 395.

Books, chest of, ii. 557, 557.

Books lent to Miss Brawme not to
be sent home, ii. 513.

Borough, 8 Dean Sfreet, K. living
at, i. 3, 3.

Borrowdde, mountains of, i. 176.

Bowdich, Thomas Edward, i. 230.

581

Bowness, K. visits, i. 168, 171.

Boxer, Mrs. Dilke’s dog, i. 45.

Box Hill, K. ascends, i. 69.

Boyardo, ii. 375.

Bradley, S. Devon, ii. 374.

Bradshaw, Richard, i. 180.

‘Bragadocio to Jo^nv Bull’, ii.
491 -

Brawne, Fanny, ii. 380, 436, 354,
562, 567, 570; biographical note
on, i. Iv; books lent by K. not to
be sent home, ii. 513; K. de-
scribes, i. 270, 275-6; first meet-
ing, i. 235; natural pride and
buoyancy, ii. 509; occasional
‘chat and tiff’, ii. 318; in her
‘shepherdess dress’, ii. 534; a
thousand Houris, ii. 516; im-
prisonment at Hampstead, ii.

505, 524; ‘flirting vvith Brown’,
ii. 541 ; engagement thought im-
prudent, ii. 306; the only medi-
cine to keep K. well, ii. 51 1 ; not
to visit K. when Brown at home,
ii. 514, 313; K. commends her
to Brov^m, ii. 564; K. nursed
by her and her Mother, i. Iv; his
horror at lea\’ing her, ii. 565; his
last words to, ii. 568; his suspicion
of her dismissed, ii. 503; Brown
writes Spenserian stanzas about
her and K., ii. 350; K.’s letters
to her, ii. 381, 386, 389-92, 397,
400, 416, 476, 477, 479, 498,
501-2, 504-^9 5 oB-io,5I2, 513-
159518, 522-4, 525-8, 532, 5339
540, 544-7.

Brawne, Margaret, ii. 384, 394,

506, i^7-

Brawne, Mrs., i. 282; ii. 233, 320,
3259 3449 35O9 3839 3949 498,
506, 509, 511, 515, 518, 519,
527, 541, 549; ‘a very nice
woman’, i. 270; her dog Carlo,
ii. 501; K. staying with, ii. 551;
K.’s letter to, ii. 566.

Brawne, Samuel, brother of Fanny,
ii. 384, 394, 526, 527, 567.

Brawne, Samuel, father of Fanny,
ii. 384.

Breama, in ‘Chorus of Fairies’, ii.
358-61.

Brentford, wise woman of, ii. 459.

n

V

GENERAL INDEX

Briggs, ii. 492.

Brigs ot Ayr, i. 19 1.

British Gallery visited, i. 114.

British Institution, portrait exhibi-
tion visited, ii. 537.

British Museum, ii. 425, 474.

Brothers, K.’s love for his, i. 164.

Brougham, Lord, i. 168, 202,

Brown, Charles, i. 45, 54, 56, 615,
77, 81, 87, 94, joo, 1 15, 130, 169'
770, 180, 186, 191, 196, 200, 201,
205, 207, 21 1, 216, 220, 237,
258, 266, 267, 270, 274, 276,
278, 280, 290; n. 309, 317, 320,
321. 339 j 345: 349. 365. 372.
378, 379, 392: 395: 398, 399,
400, 408, 409, 410, 412, 414,
415, 416, 41 7, 418, 425, 427, 429,
430, 434: 436, 446. 447: 452,
458, 465, 472, 474, 476, 478,
482, 483, 484, 485, 490, 495,
496, 498, 499, 502, 508, 509,
512, 514,519,520, 523,525,526,
527, 528, 529, 530, 531, 538, 541,

543, 549, 560,563; accident to, i.
122, 122; biographical note on, i.
xlvij as a draughtsman, ii. 380,
395; amusing incident at Dilke’s,
ii. 440; account of a story by, ii.
320, 325; same story referred to,
ii. 495; and Jenny Jacobs, ii.
396; a joke on, ii. 468, 474; K.
calls him the Red Cross lOiight,
i. 231; his Hampstead House
robbed, ii. 302; his kindness to
K., i. 1 15; ii. 310, 318, 337, 433;
his odd dislikes, ii. 429; his
character by Dilke, i. xlvii ; K.
goes to live with him, i. 267; K.’s
Spenserian stanzas on hrm, ii.
350; writes Spenserian stanzas
against Mrs. and Miss Brawne
and K., ii. 350; his letters from
Scotland quoted, i. 176, 21S, 221,
230; sketching contest with K.,
ii* 395; “writes ‘volumes of ad-
ventures ’ to Dilke, i. 212; parts
from K. at Inverness, August
1818, i. 231; copies Hogarth’s
heads, ii. 303, 507, 520; draws a
profile of K., ii. 380; his second
visit to Scotland, ii. 529,556, 530 ;
tour in N. England and Scotland

with K., 1. 143, 159, 167-231;
asked by K. to go to Rome with
him, ii. 560; lends K. money, ii.
381, 404, 41 1 ; his letter concern-
ing K.’s illness, i. 230; ii. 505; his
letter to Haydon, ii. 475; his
letter to Taylor, ii. 405; ‘&own
drove, but the horse did notmind
him’, ii. 322; K. likes ‘his society
as well as any man’s’, ii. 399; he
and K. ‘cursing like Manderille
and Lisle’, ii. 410; writes a
tragedy with K., see ‘Otho the
Great’; writing a life of David,
ii. 376; his younger brothers, ii.
344j 35 1 ; joint letter by him and
K., ii. 301; K.’s letters to, ii. 430,
432, 533> 536, 558. 562, 563,
568.

Brown, Charles Brockden, ii. 424.

Brown, John, ii. 351.

Brown, Mrs., a Gaelic song by, i.
216; ii. 447.

Brown, Mrs. Septimus, ii. 318.

Browning, Robert, i. 32.

Bmmidgeum, i. 125.

Brussels, ii. 320, 512.

‘Brutus’, Howard Payne’s tragedy,
i. 270.

Brutus, Junius, i. 135.

Bucke, Charles, i. 133; ii. 346,5^6.

Buffon, ii. 336, 337, 407.

Bull and Mouth Inn, i. 131.

Bunyan’s ‘Emblems’, ii. 460; ‘Pil-
grim’s Progress’, i. 39,

Buonaparte, i. 37, 88, 253, 260; ii.
320; compared to Mark Antony,
i* 33*

Burdett, Sir Francis, i. 254.

Burford Bridge, i. 75.

Burleigh, Lord, portrait of, ii. 537.

Bums, Robert, i. 172, 193, 232; ii.
339; beauty of his native place,
i. 190, 198; his cottage, i. 190,
191,212; K. writes a sonnet in, i.
^92-3, I99 j 212, 212; his disposi-
tion Southern, i. 187; his misery,
i. 193; his tomb, i. 178, 179, 180,
190; a ‘mahogany-faced old jack-
ass’ who knew him, i. 192; Lines
written after visiting his country,
i. 213; sonnet on visiting his
tomb, i. 178; reputation for

582

GENERAL INDEX

writing ^mony sensible things’, i.
190; allusions to ‘Tam o’ Shan-
ter’, i. 177, 191, 199.

Bums, Mrs., i. 178.

Burton, Lancs., i. 171.

Burton’s ‘Anatomy of Melancholy’,

i. 238', ii. 4271 extract from, ii.

..

Burton, Mr., u. 302.

Butler, Mr., i. 115, 282; ii. 302.
Butler, Sarah, i. 150.

B^on, Lord, i. 66, 236 , 241 > 253-4;
ii- 32 1 5 3333 3403 442; 4th canto
of ‘Childe Harold’, i. 104, 115;
‘Don Giovanni’ expected, ii. 318;
‘Don Juan’, his ‘last flash poem’,

ii. 443; K.’s indignation at storm
in ‘Don Juan’, ii.jdj; difference
between him and K., ii. 452; K.
unwilling to know him, i. 54; a
‘literary King’, i. 278; sale of his
works, ii. 321; ‘cuts a figure but
is not figurative’, ii. 327; ‘Man-
fred’ quoted, i. 154; an unidenti-
fied couplet, i. 253.

Caesar, Julius, i. 119.

Cairn, i. 196.

Cairn Gorm, mountain of, i.

233-

‘Cairn-something’, K. writes from,
i. 200.

‘Caleb Williams’ contrasted with
‘Waverley’, i. 287.

Caliph Vathek, i. 192, 192.
Camden Town, ii. 338, 497.
Cameron, M!rs., her ascent of Ben
Nevis, i. 224.

Campbell, Dykes, i. 63.

Cancers, i. 164.

Canning, ii. 496.

Canova, ii. 571.

Canterbury, intended visit to, i.

35 -

Canterbury House, Carisbrooke,
^

Cantire, 1. 196.

‘Cap and B^, The’, ii. 40J, 512,
5373 562.

Cape [of Good Hope], i. 189.
Cappiiocia, i. 26.

Capper and Hazlewood, i. 259,
263; ii. 438.

Card-playing, i. 71, 82, 194, 235;

ii. 318, 354, 392, 507.

Carey, WiUiam, attack on Haydon
by, ii. 474.

Carisbrooke, K.’s letter from, i. 18;

K.’s lodgings at, identified, i. 19.
Carisbrooke Castle, i. 19.

Carlile, Richard, ii. 321, 444.
Carlisle, i. 170, 173, 177, 180, 228.
Cary, Henry Francis, pun on his
name, i. 167; his ‘Dante’, i. 165,
212, 212^ 235; K.’s copy of, ii.
553 - , ..

Cash resources stopped, n. 402.
‘Castle of Indolence, The’ (Thom-
son), ii. 339.

‘Castle, The Enchanted’ (Claude),
i- 1353 138.

Castlereagh, Lord, i. 133; ii. 496; an
Ode to, ii. 483.

Cat, Mrs.Wylie’s ‘quaker-colour’d’,
ii. 498.

Cathedral, K.’s penchant for a, ii.

398-

Cats, curious beha\dour of Mrs.
Dilke’s, i. 291.

‘Cave of Despair’, see Severn.
Cawthorn, bookseller, dines ^vdth
K. and Browm, ii. 334.

‘Cenci, The’, K. receives a copy
from Shelley, ii. 553.

Centli\Te, Mrs., ii. 345.

Ceres, i. 208.

Chambers of Life, i. 156-8.
‘Champion, The’, i. 13, 94; K.’s
theatrical notices in, 2. jS, 78,
81, 83; ii. 432.

Chancery suit, threatened by Mrs.

Jennings, ii. 379, 381, 471,
Chapman’s ‘Homer’, ii. 556.
Charles I, i. 19.

Charles II, i. 133,

Charles Stuart, a ‘jacobin’ song on,
i. 216; ii. 447.

Charlotte, Princess, i. 71, 83, xz/,
t6i, 271.

Charlotte, Queen, death of, ii.

33 ^-

‘Charmian’, see Cox, Jane.
Chatterton, ‘Endymion’ dedicated
to, i. 131, 142, 144; Hazlitt on,
i. 1 15; purity of his English, ii.
419, 465.

GENERAL INDEX

Chaucer, i. 36; ii. 330, 381, 456;
K. secures a black-letter copy of,
i. 151; his Gallicisms, ii. 419,
465; preferred to Ariosto, ii. 481 .
Cheapside, No. 76, K.’s letter from,
i- 9-

Chesterfield, Lord, ii. 521.
Chichester, ii. 302, 412, 572; K.
going to, ii. 296; visits Wm.
Dilke at, ii. 317.

China, i. 255.

‘Chorus of Fairies’, ii. 358.

Christ, ii. 364.

‘Christ rejected’, see Haydon.
‘Christ’s entry into Jerusalem’, see
Haydon.

Christie, Mr., i. 75.

Christmas-day 1818, invitations
for, ii. 293.

Christmas Gambols, ‘obsoletion* of,

i. 76.

‘Chronicle, The’, see ‘Mominjsr
Chronicle’.

Cibber, Colley, i. 35.

CindereUa, i. 39; ii. 335.

Circe in ‘Endymion’, i. 145.

Claret, K.’s partiality for, ii. 316,
323, 400; a ‘claret feast’, ii. 351.
Clark, Dr., afterwards Sir James,

ii. 562, 571, 572, 57J.

Clarke, Charles Cowden, i. 5-^, j,
22,276;n.si8,^ig; biographical
note on, i. xxxv ; K.’s letters to,
i* 3 j 8, 9, 12.

Clarke, Rev. James Freeman, i.
xxxii.

Cl^ke, John, his school at Enfield,

i. xxxv.

Claude’s ‘Enchanted Castle’, i.

135, 138.

Clementi, music publisher, ii. 524.
Cleopatra, i. 187, 252; Antony and,
139 *

Clergy, K.’s opinion of, ii. 322-3,

Climate, its effects on character,

ii. 413.

Clyde, the, i. 201.

Coachman described, ii. 421.
Cobbett, William, i. 290; ii. 323,
521; attacks ‘the Settiement’, ii.
^319. 3 ^ 9 -

Cock, Edward, surgeon, i. 4,

‘Cockaigne, Count de’, ii. 335
Cockney School of Poetry, i 6^;

97» 165, 236.

Coffee-german, ii. 443.

Coleridge, i. 25, 109 ; discourses to
K. u._ 349; invites K. to call on
hhtij ii- 35® j Lay Sermons’, i,

60; ‘Sibylline Leaves’, i. 68; want
of ‘negative capability’, i. 77
College Street, No. 25, K.’s letters
from, ii. 476, 477.

Collins, Hazlitt on, i. 115.
Colman, George, the younger, i
155-

Golnaghi’s, ii. 445.

Colton, Charles Caleb, ii. 48g; and
see Lacon.

Colvin, Sir Sidney, i. v, vi, vii, 70,
206, 244\ ii. S21, 337, 341.

Comet of 1819, ii. 387.
Commonplace people, Hazlitt’s
essay on, i. 59.

‘Comus’, see Milton.

‘Concert, played a’, i. 79.
Constable, bookseller, i. 97.
Consumptive fellow-voyager to
Italy, ii. 566.

Ccmtinent^K.’s thoughts of visiting

Cook, Captain, ii. 497.

Cook, Mrs., i. 22.
Coomb-in-Teign-Head, i. 126.
Cordelia, the name, i. 120.
Corneille, i. 72 p, 140.

Cornwall, Barry, see Procter, B. W.
Country, K. thinks of settling in
the, i. 13.

Covent Garden New Tragedy,
‘Retribution’, i. 78, 78,

Govent Garden Pantomime, i. 78,
81.

Cowes visited, i. 19; the Regent’s
Yacht at, ii. 403.

Cowper, i. 109.

Cox, Jane, K.’s ‘Charmian’, i. 238;

ii. 43^\^ described, i. 252-3, 233.
Crabbe, i. 109; ii. 335.

‘Cr^me de Byrapymdrag’, ii. 495.
Crewe, Marquess of, i. xi, xvi; ii.

^317,339.341,3^^^

Cricket, K. plays, ii. 339.

Cripps, art student, i, 52, 54, 60,
68, 71, 72, 83, 84^ 85, 88, 91, 108.

584

GENERAL INDEX

Critics, ‘dack’d liair’d’, i. 127.
Croft, Sir Richard, i. no, no.
Croker, John Wilson, i. 241.
Cromarty, K. embarks for London
at, i. 233.

Cromwell, Oliver, i. 254.

Crossing a letter, associations of, i.
I55 j -^ 55*

Grossraguel, Abbey, i. 198.

Crown and Anchor, i. i2g ; ii. 445.
Cruelty transient, but love etem^ ,
ii. 546.

‘Cumberland Beggar’ (Words-
worth), i. 50.

Cunningham, Allan, ii. 4go.

‘ Cupid and Vency in the Spec-
tator’, ii. 427.

Cuthbert de Saint Aldebrim, i. 1 36.
Gyrene, i. 26.

‘Daisy’s Song’, referred to, i. 557.
Dancing, at Dilke’s and London
Coffee House, i. 87; ii. 490; at
Mr. Wylie’s cousin’s, ii. 308, 319; I
a rout at Sawrey’s, ii. 343; K. !
asks his sister to teach him steps, |
ii. 306; Cumberland school of, i. {

^77- . . i

Dante, 1. 165, 212, 230, 300; ii. |
352, 465. See also Cary. I

Darling, Dr., ii. 555. ^ I

Dart, river, K. thinks of seeing, i.

128. j

Davenport, Mr., ii. 321, 345, 499. |
Davenports, the, of Church Row, j
ii- 333> 337-

David, i. 43, 203; u. 376, 430.
David, Psalms of, i. 43, 203; ii. 432,
522.

Davies, John, quotation from, ii-
474 '

Dawlish Fair, K. visits, i. 133.
‘Dawlish Fair’, verses, i. 133.

Day, Mr. F. Holland, i. xv, g.

Dean Street, No. 8, K.’s letter
from, i. 3.

Death, ‘the great divorcer for ever’,
ii. 564; the only refuge, ii. 541; i
thoughts on when alone, i. 164.
de Caylus, Comte, ii. 550.

‘Deist, The’, ii. 321, 444.

Dennet, Miss, i. 81. |

‘Dentatus’, see Haydon. |

Derrynaculen, K. wTites from, i.
215; ii. 446.

Derwent Water, i. 1 73, 1 75.

Devereux, young, portrait of, ii.
537-

Devon Maid, The’, i. 127.

Devonshire, i. 119, 122, 125-6, 131,
169, 186, 190; ii. 376, 419; dia-
lect, i. 179, iyg\ ii. 420; admira-
tion for girls of, ii. 420; contempt
for men of, i. 1 19; prevalence of
rain in, i. 119, 122, 125, 138, 142,
144, 148.

Devon[shire], Duke of, i. no.

De Wint, Peter, message to, i. 167.

De Wint, Mrs., i. 167.

Dilke, Charles Went\\’'orth, i. 26’,
755 76, 775 ^5 87, 95, iy8,
186, 196, 227, 230, 237, 249,
258, 267, 283; ii. 312, 351, 433,
490, 494, 522, 549, 565; bio-
graphical note on, i. xlv; amusing
incident with Brown, ii. 440;
‘capital friends’, i. 81; tak^
‘Champion’ theatricals, i. 81 , 94;
character and change in disposi-
tion, ii. 466; devotion to his son,
ii- 3235 3455 ^0,466 ; a ‘Godwin
methodist’, ii. 466; a ‘Godwin
perfectibility man’, i. 255; kind-
ness to K., i. 1 15; ii. 318; occu-
pied with Politics and Greek
History, ii. 323; painful \isit
from, ii. 548; his penmanship
compared with Bailey’s, ii. 521;
quoted, i.25, py, 122, igi, 209, 221,
238, 276] ii. 317, 400, 429, 431,
490> 5^4'y removal to

Westminster, ii. 344; sends afarce
to Covent Garden, i. 81; goes
shooting with K., i. 280; up to
his ears in Walpole’s letters, i.
289; K.’s letters to, i. 68, 235; ii.
301,394, 427, 472,5195 531-

Dilke, G. W. and Mrs., i. 22, 44,
51, 56, 278, 282; ii. jjr, 315,3455
380, 436, 567; K.’s letter to,
j i. 68; K- and Brown’s joint letter

to, ii. 301.

Dilke, Mrs.C. W., i. 20,45,81, 120,
167, 237, 244, 249, 268; ii. 297,

I 305, 309, 324, 325, 345, 3985
I 430, 472, 476, 478, 479, 485,

GENERAL INDEX

490, 4993 500, 521, 528, 529,
532, 541; ‘a battle with celery-
stalks* with K., i. 292; her
brother, ii. 531; her cats, i. 291;
her dog, i. 45; her notes on K.*s
Scotch tour, i. 232.

Dilke, Sir Charles Wentworth
(Charley), ist baronet, son of
above, ii. 309, 312, 323, 345-6,
396, 430, 436, 440, 490, 532; K.
has tea with him on his birth-
day, ii. 325.

Dilke, Sir Charles Wentworth, 2nd
baronet, grandson of K.*s friend,
i. 178; ii. 427,557.

Dilke, William, of Chichester,
father of K.*s friend, i. 45, 68,
222; ii. 526-7; K. visits, ii. 301,

317-

Dilke, Mrs., of Chichester, mother
of K.’s friend, ii. 302, 303.

Dilke Collection, Hampstead, i.

^3^^5^0,366.

Diocletian, i. 255.

Diomed, i. 120.

Disinterestedness of mind, rarity of
complete, ii. 340.

Domitian, ii. 333.

‘Don Giovanni*, a Pantomime,
noticed by K. in ‘The Champion*,
i. 78.

‘Don Juan*, see Byron.

‘Don Quixote’, i. 103 (Sancho); ii.
372-

Donaghadee, i. 189, 232; K.’s
letter continued at, i. 188.

‘Doon, the bonny’, i, 191, ig8,
212, 232.

Dorking, K. arrives at, i. 75.

‘Doublings*, i. 51.

‘Douglas’ (John Home), ii. ^6,

Draper, R., i. 131.

‘Draught of Sunshine, A’, i. 100.

Dream after reading Canto V of
Dante’s Inferno, ii. 352

Drewe, Eliza Powell, i. jj/y.

Drewe family, misfortune in, i.
277-8.

Drewe, George, i. 278.

Drive ‘behind a leaden horse’, ii.
322.

‘Drummer, The’ (Addison), i. 27.

Drury Lane Theatre, K. visits, i.

79j ^7> 96; criticizes pantomime,
i. 78.

Dryden, i. 43; ii. 326,

Dryden, Lady, i. igi.

Dryope, in ‘Endymion’, i. 1 1 7.

Dubois, Edward, i. 77, 279.

‘Duchess of Dunghill, the’, i. 189,
194-

Dumfries, i. 186, 190; horse-fair at,
i. 1 79; K.’s letter continued at,
i. 178; K.’s letter from, i. 179.

Dim an cuUen, see Derrynaculen.

Dundas, Robert Saunders, i. 203,
203.

Duns, i. 34, 35, 36, 46.

Diirer, Albert, painting by, ii. 475.

Dusketha (Earth) in ‘Chorus of
Fairies’, ii. 358^1.

Edgeworth, Miss, her cat, i. 135.

Edinburgh, i. 200; K. considers
studymg for a physician at, ii.
336; invitation to visit, i. 66.

‘Edinburgh Review, The’, ii. 432,
452, 432.

Edmund Ironside, i. 120.

Elements, the, regarded as com-
forters, i. 43.

Elgin Marbles, i. 114.

Elisha, ii. 376.

Elizabeth, Queen, her Latin ex-
ercises, ii. 522; Holinshed’s Life
of, ii. 481.

Elizabethan, compared with
modem poets, i. 103.

Ellenborough, Lord, i. 76.

Ellipsis, recommended by Haydon,
i.p, II.

Elliston, Robert William, ii. 483,
485.

Elm Cottage, ii. 548.

Elmes, James, ii. 381 ; biographical
note on, i. 1; K.’s letter to, ii.
377-

‘Emblems’ (Bunyan), ii. 460.

Endmoor, K. visits, i. 167, 168, 171^

‘Endymion’, ‘I stood tiptoe’, i. 12,
12.

‘Endymion: a Poetic Romance’, i.
34»35>46,JL53 j 55. 56,70* 75* 78*
83* 97* 104, 107, 109, 166, 233,
241, 243; ii. 553; K. will ‘forth-
with begin*, i. 2 1 ; Bk. I, revision

GENERAL INDEX

finished, i. 88; given to Taylor, i.
93; Bk. II, beginning to copy, i.
94; in readiness forthwith, i. 89;
finished, i. 108; Bk. Ill, pro-
gressing, i. 50; finished, i. 53;
copied, and copying of Bk. IV
begun, i. 1 1 7; extract from Bk.
IV, i. 58; Bk. IV copied, i. 124;
sent to publishers with dedica-
tion and preface, i. 130; progress
at Oxford, i. 39, 46, 5O5 53 ; Pro-
gress in Surrey, i. 70-1, 75; in
revision at Hampstead, i. 88, 94,
no, 1 16; dedicated to Chatter-
ton, i. 131, 142, 143; short pre-
face promised, i. 117; will write
it soon, i. 124; sent with dedica-
tion to publishers, i. 13 1; dis-
cussion of I St preface, i. 141,
142; 2nd preface sent to Rey-
nolds, i. 143; K. sees a sheet of, i.

1 10; to be out in a month, i. 1 15;
revision of passage in Bk. I, i. 97;
alteration suggested by Taylor,
i. 1 16; proposed issue in 4to, i.
93; anxiety to get it printed, i.

1 1 7; appreciated by Bailey, i. 50;
account of fable sent to Fanny
K., i. 40; advances on account, i.
34, 36; apology to Taylor for
trouble, i. 144; admitted by K.
to be ‘slip-shod’, i. 242; admira-
tion of Sir James Mackintosh, ii.

Circe and Glaucus in, i. 145;
copy bound for Mrs. Re^^molds,
i. 166, 194; described, i. 242; K.
calls the book ‘very free from
faults’, i. 145; and sends list of
Errata, i. 146; 4,000 lines to be
made of ‘one bare circumstance’,
i. 55; a test of imagination, i. 55;
Haydon offers to do K.]s portrait
for, i. 89, 94; Himt’s criticism of,
i. 94; Shelley on its promise, i.
10^; letter from Jane Porter con-
cerning, i. 272; ‘The Edinburgh
Review* afraid of, ii- 452; ‘The
Quarterly Review’ on, i. 241;
copy taken to Africa by Ritchie,
i. 278-9; sonnet and present
from an admirer of, i. 279;
at all succeeded’, ii. 323; Words-
worth’s comment on, i. 10^*

Enfield, Clarke s school at, 1. xxxii,
xxxiii, XXXV.

English, Ghatterton’s the purest, ii.

419. 465-

‘Epistle to John Hamilton Rey-
nolds’, i. 134.

‘Epistle to my Brother George’, i. 4.
Erasmus, i. 23.

Esau, i. 104.

Esquimaux, i. 269.

Euclid, i. 47, 258.

Eustace, i. 236.

‘Evadne’, see Sheil, R. L.

Eve, ii. 320, 362.

‘Eve of St. Agnes, The’, ii. 426,
481; written at Winchester, ii.
3i7» 322, 399; .toeing revised, ii.
414; unauthorized changes in,
ii. 535”^*

‘Eve of St. Mark, The’, ii. 41 7, 461 ;
in progress, ii. 322; ite careless-
ness, ii. 456; quoted, ii. 453.
Evelyn, John, ii. ^5.

‘Examiner, The’, i. 33, 66, 75, 76,
273, 290; ii. 307, 320, 5^0, 337,
410, 429, 467, 472; on C^is-
tianity, i. 23; in defence of K., i.
250; Haydon on ‘Manuscrit
Venu de St. Helene’, i. 3a;
Hazlitt on Southey, i. 23-5, 2^
5; K.’s notice of Reynolds’s
‘Peter Bell’ in, ii. 354-5> S 5 S on
Wellington, i. 33.

‘Excursion, The’, see Wordsworth.
Experiment in sonnet stanza, ii.

368.

‘Extempore, An’, ii. 347.

‘Faerie Queene, The’, i. 35; ii. 354,

4S2,4P5,55?- , . „ .

Fagging at schools, i* 25°; 39 o*

‘Fairies, Chorus oT, ii. 358.

‘False One, The’ (Beaumont and
Fletcher), ii. 338.

Fame, two sonnets on, ii. 365; K.’s
eagerness for, i. 28; preoccupa-
tion with, ii. 510, 524.

‘Fancy’, i. 283; referred to, ii. 5/5.
Fanny, see Keats, Frances Mary.
Fashion, Sir Novclt>% i. 35.
‘Father Nicholas’, \lackcnzie’s, i.
282.

‘Fazio’ (H. H. Milman), i. 109, 109.

587

GENERAL INDEX

Fenbank, P., connected with son-
net and present to K., i. 279.

Fergus II, i. 217; ii. 449.

Fezan, i. 80.

Fielding, Henry, i. 82, 280; ii. 453.

Fine writing next to fine doing, ii.
406.

Fingal’s Cave, i. 217; ii. ^^9.

Fitzgerald, Miss, i. 272; ii. 2^5.

Fladgate, Frank, i. xxxvii, 82, 191,
19^-

Fleet Street Household (Taylor’s),
i. 84.

Fletcher, Mrs. Philips compared to,
i. 50.

Fletcher, see Beaumont and
Fletcher.

Flora, ii. 316.

‘Florence, The Garden of’, see
Reynolds, J. H.

Florimel, ii. 354.

Flowers, beauty of retired, i. 103;
K.’s Section for, ii. 507.

‘Foliage’, see Hunt, J. H. L.

‘Fool Lacon Esq^e*, ii . 489, 489, 49 1 •

Foppington, Lord, i. 55.

Forman, H. Buxton, i. vi, ix, x,
xiijxv; ii. 341, 966; Bio^aphical
Memoranda by, i. xxxii.

Fortunatus’ purse, i. 53.

Fort William, L 206, 207, 220, 222.

Foundation of St. Croix, ii. 408,
462, 475.

Fox, George, ii. 321.

Frampton and Sons, i. i/i; ii. 343,
57^*

France, i. 255.

Francesca, in ‘Rimini’, i. 94.

Francesca, Paolo and, ii. 352.

Franklin, Benjamin, i. 255.

French language inferior to English,
i. 41.

French Revolution, ii. 444.

Frenchmen, gallantry of some, ii.
385.

Frogiey, Miss, i. 271, 272; ii. 293.

Fry, K.’s letter to, not extant, ii.

^ ^34* . ^

Fur cap, 1. 228.

Fuseli, Henry, ii. 457, 474.

G. minor, see Keats, Georgiana
Augusta.

‘Gadfly, The’, i. 202; referred to,i.
^ 75 -

Gaelic spoken, K. hears, i. 206.
Galloway, i. 178, 180.

‘Galloway Song, A’, i. 194.
‘Garden of Florence, The’, see
Reynolds, J. H.

Garnett, Dr. Richard, i. 80.
Gattie, i. 277.

Gay, i. 155.

‘Genesis’, i. 45; ii. 396, 449.
Genius, men of, lacking individu-
ality, i. 72.

George II, ii. 537.

George III, i. 162; ii. 500.
‘Gertrude of Wyoming’, ii. 493.
Ghosts, i. 75.

Giants Cause-way, i. 185, 188.
Gibbon, K. reads, i. 1 15; borrows
Gibbon from Dilke, i. 237.
Gifford, William, i. 241; his attack
on K. an advantage, i. 250, 271;
classified by Brown among
‘nuisances’, ii. 321; Hazlitt’s
letter to, ii. 327-9, 331-3.
‘Giovanni, Don’, see Byron.

‘Gipsy, The’, see Wordsworth.
Girvan, K.’s letter continued at, i,

196.

Gisborne, Maria, extracts from her
journal, ii. J5p, 542, 550.
Glasgow, i. 201, 212, 232; K.

writes from, i. 200.

Glaucus, in ‘Endymion’, i. 145.
Gleig, Bishop, i. 88.

Gleig, Miss, Bailey’s engagement
to, ii, 326, 400.

Gleig, the Rev. G. R., i. 56, 98, 57,
68, 75. 93. 122, ISO, 131, 165.
Glencroe, i. 205.

Glenluce, i. 185, 186.

Gliddon, Mh*., ii. 434.

Gloucester, Bishop of, ii. 302, 522.
Gloucester Street, Queen Square,
No. 34, K. visits a lady at, i. 260.
Godwin, William, ii. 424, 466 ; Dilke
compared to, i. 255; his ‘Mande-
ville’ reviewed by Shelley, i. 81;
Hazlitt on his ‘St. Leon’, i. 287;
Mandeville and Lisle cursing, ii.
410, 410.

Goethe, ‘Sorrows of Werther’, ii.

438.

588

GENERAL INDEX

‘Golden Grove’, Jeremy Taylor’s, death, ii. 312, 340, 343; destroys

ii. 326. ^ George’s long expected letter, ii.

Goldsmith, ii. 305. 371; more unpleasantness about

Gossips, idle, K. will not be the a letter from George, ii. 408; not

friend of, ii. 545. a pattern for lovers, ii. 437; ‘ver>'

Gower, ii. 456. Beadle to an amorous sigh’, ii.

Grasmere, i. 171, 177. 480; does not answer George’s

Gravesend, K. and Brown finally letters, ii. 573; K. quits London

part at, ii. 555, 547. without taiing leave of, ii. 572;

Gray, Thomas, i. 115, 155. K.’s letter to, ii. 371.

Great Smith Street, K.’s letter Haslam, Miss, i. xli.

from, ii. 479. ^ Haslam, Mrs., ii. 340.

Greek, K. decides to learn, i. 149; Hastings, lady met by K. at, i. 260,
not to learn, ii. 465. ii. 324.

Green, Mr. , demonstrator at Guy’s, Havant, ii. 302 .
ii. 349. Haydon, Benjamin Robert, i. 9, 1 2,

Griselda, patient, ii. 351.

Grover, Miss, ii. 489.

Guido, i. 281-2.

Guy’s Hospital, i. 5; ii. 349.

Gyges’ ring, i. 53.

Hale-White, Sir William, his ‘Keats
as a Medical Student’ quoted, i.
Haller, Mrs. in ‘The Stranger’, i.
204.

Hammond, Thomas, i. 5; ii. 460.
Hampshire, visit to contemplated, j

i. 274; ii. 299, 300; visited, ii.
301, 317.

Hampstead, damned by Hunt, i.
128; K.’s eyes fixed on it aU day,

ii. 568; the parson ‘quarrelling
with aU the world’, ii. 336.

Hampstead Heath, K. shoots on,

i. 280; with SheUey on, ii. 554.
Handel, i. 199.

Handwritings discussed, ii. 521.

‘HarlequinEpigram,Esqre’, ^,495.

‘Harpsicob, Land of’, i. 107.

Harris, Robert, i. 81, 94.

Hart, Mr., an American, ii. 490.
Harvard GoU^e Library, i. xi, xv;

ii. 575, 557.

Hasl^, William, i. 83, 88, 94, 228,

24S, 259, 263, 266, 268, 271, 274,
277, 280, 283, 291, 292; ii. 310,
319, 325, 330, 340, 437, 489-90>
492, 494, 539, 562, 5h7..579>
J75; biographical note on, i. xli;
lus VinHnfiss to Tom, i. 248; to
John, i. 267; borrower of money j
from George, ii. 458; his father’s i

589

13, 17, 18, ao, 21, 32, 50, 54, 55,
56, 59, 64, 71, 72, 76, 83, 85, 86,
87, 88, 93, 1 14, igg, 258, 259,
268, 274, 277, 278, 282; n. 319,
378. 457= 490. 494= 52 1 = 537= 556,
557 ; biographical note on, i.
xxxix; his autobiography quoted,
i.8; K.’s introduction to, i.8,^;
K. assured of his affection, i. 31 ;
K. dines with him, i. 76, 88, 160;
his ‘immortal dinner’, i. Bo; his
eyes weak, i. 251, 269; ii. 319;
K. offers to lend him mone>’, ii.
295; he accepts, ii. J?p4, 298; K.’s
trouble to raise it, ii. 298, 300,
307, 313, 380; return of money
sought, ii. 457; his pictures one
of three things to rejoice at, i. 85,
86; his ‘Christ’s entr>" into Jeru-
salem’, i. 32, 139; ii. 345, 527,
527; his ‘Christ rejected’, i. 76;
his ‘Dentatus’, i. 128; his ‘La-
zarus’, ii. 55j; his ‘Solomon’, ii.
298; offers to do a portrait of K.
for ‘Endyrnion’, i. 89, 94; his
quarrels, with Hunt, i, 54, 86-7,
90; with Reynolds, i, 86, 90;
Reynolds’s letter and sonnet to,
i. 11; K.’s sonnet to, i. g, 10; K.’s
Sunday evening with, i. 80; he
finds a seal of Shakespeare, i.
125; his sister, i. 34; K. <^cems
‘a touch of Alexander’, ii. 595;
his last visit to K., ii. 549; his
letters to K., i. 14, 28-g, 5^, 84,
125, 128, 141, 2ji; ii. 294,

29S, 299= 313^ 553 ^ 5^1 K:.’s

GENERAL INDEX

letters to him, i. 9, 10, 28, 52, 84,
88, 107, 125, 138; ii. 294, 297,
2985 299, 300, 306, 313, 380,
472, 549. 555-

rlaydon, Frank Scott, ii. 474,
Haydon, Frederick Wordsworth, i.
140; ii. 555.

Hazlewood, Capper and, i. 259,
263; ii. 438.

Hazlitt, William, i. 13, 50, 135,

140, 149.. .155. 157. i 57 > 170.

260, 277; 11. 335, 424, 405, 431;
on Coriolanus’, ii. 330-1,* on
Cowper, Crabbe, and Thomson,
i. i09j on Chatterton,i, 1 15; ‘On
Commonplace Critics’, i. 59; on
Godwin’s ‘St. Leon’, i. 286; ‘On
Manner’, i. 59; his ‘depth of
taste’, i. 85, 86; his lectures, i.
93. 94. 109, 1 15, 282, 287; ii.
480; extracts from ‘Letter to
Gifford’, ii. 327-9, 331-3; on
Southey’s ‘Letter to William
i- 23-5; his ‘Round
Table’, i. 50, 59; on Shakespeare,

i, 32; as a painter, i. 53; his pro-
secution of Blackwood, i. 236*
met by K. at Haydon’s, i. 88; k!
calls on him, i. 270; K. dines at
Haydon’s with, i. 160, and at
Hessey’s, i. 236; ‘your only good
damner’, i. 128.

Hazlitt, Mrs., and her son, ii. 318.
‘Heart of Midlothian, The’, an
opera seen by K., ii. 356.

Heart, the, the Mind’s Bible, ii.

383;

Heart’s affections and truth of
imagination the only certain
things, i. 72.

Hebrew, the study of, advised, i.
42.

‘Hebrews, Epistle to the’, i. 86.
Hebrides, i. 206.

Helen (of Troy), i. 187.

HdveUyn, i. lo, 172, 173, 175. 176;
acrostic written at foot of, i. 1 72 *

ii. 445. ’

•Hengist’ (Bucke’s play), i. 133.
H^etta Street, the Wylie’s hnrne

m, 1 268; ii. 319, 458.

Henry VIII, u. 444.

Herculaneum, a piece of, i. 122.

‘Hercules Methodist’, coachman
described as a, ii. 421.

Herm«, i. 153; ii. 324.

Herma pd Helena’, see Severn
Herrick, i. 238.

Hessey, James Augustus, i. 14,6
167. 258; ii. 405, 556; bio-
graphical note on, i. xlviii* K
dines with, i. 236, 2441 K. re-
ceives money from, ii. 411-12*
letters to, i. 240; ii, 41 1. ’
Hessey, Mrs., i. 131.

Hesseys, the, referred to as ‘Percy
Street’, i, 84, 117, 131,

11. 405. ^

‘Highlands, Lines written in the’
1. 213. ’

Hill, K. meets, i. 77.

Hilton, William, R.A., i. 167; ii

_338, 345.

Hindoos, ii. 364.

‘History of King Pepin’, i. 39.
Hobhouse, letterin ‘TheExaminer’
on, i. 290.

Hodgkinson, i. 750; u. 338, 377,
408, 443, 543.

i- 155. 280; his
Memodist Meeting’ gives K. a
horrid dream, ii. 507, 520.

Hogg, James, ii. 338, 339.

Jnomem, u. 537.

Holinshed’s ‘Queen Elizabeth’, K
reads, ii. 481.

Holts, ‘one of the’, ii. 318.

Home, John, ii. 486.

H^er, i. 120, i2g, 149, 193, 210;

Uhapi^n s, 11. 556; Pope’s, i. 30.
Hone, William, i. 76, 81; ii. 321.
Honeycomb, Mr., i. 47.
Honeycoinbs, those, i. 43, 45.
Honiton, i. 158; ^..372.

Hood, Mrs. Thomas, see Reynolds,
Jane.

^ witticism of Horace
Smith’s, ii. 460.

Hooker, ‘Bishop’, i. qko,

Hopkinses, i. 61.

Hoppner, Lieut, H. H., recounts
Polar adventures, i. 268.

Horace, ii. 512.

Hornsey, ii. 315.

Houghton, Lord, i. v, xi, xii, 80^ 104,
^i 2 , 22 gi ^-317, 318,337, 370,

590

GENERAL INDEX

420, 430, 467, 4S7, 333; quoted, i. | K., ii.555; his sonnet on the Nile

9, lOy 13, s8,34, 40s 66,74s 98, 117, I referred to, i. no; ‘The Story of

174 ; ii, 388, 432, 472, 302, 364, I Rimini’, i. 22, 94; abrupt ter-

363, 370, 373. mination of K.’s last visit to, ii.

Howard, John, i. 253. ! 347, 550; his letter to K., ii. 559;

Howe, Mr. P. P., his ‘Life of j K.’s letters to, i. 22; ii. 575.

Hazlitt’, i. 137. i Hunt, Mrs. Leigh, i. 28, 47, 65, 81,

Human Nature as distinguished j 87, 109.

from Affiw, ii. 296. i Himt, John, i. 34, 94, 270.

‘Human Seasons, The’, sonnet, i. j Hunt, Thornton, i. 22\ ii. 330,

121. j ‘Hymn to Apollo’, i. 36,

Humility, the proper objects of, i. ‘Hymn to Pan’, i. 104.

1 4 1 . Hymns for New Jerusalem Chapel,

Hummums, the, i. 188, 188. ii. 483.

Humour superior to wit, i. 77. ‘H\perion’, i. 117, 219; n.392, 548;
‘Humphry Clinker’, i. 81 ; ii. 426-7. given up on account of ‘Miltonic

Hunt, Henry, his entry into London inversions’, ii. 419; subject for

after Manchester Massacre, ii. picture by Haydon, i. 88.

445 J 445 ) 473* ‘Hyperion, The Fall of’, i. 274, 280;

Himt, James Henry Leigh, i. 10, ii. 322, 399; passages from, ii.

I 0 > 12 , 21 , 31, 32, 47, 54, 55, 87, 422, 423, 424.

104,109,115,141,165,247,254, „ , .

258, 259, 270, 276, 277; u. 307, IcolmJall (Iona), i. 21 1, 233; de-
308, 319. 335. 345. 354-5. 458. scribed, i. 216; u. 448.

494. 512, 520. 333 , 540, 54 ^, Idalia, 11. 402.

553, 568; biographical note on. Idleness a better plea than dih-
i. XXXV ; ‘A Now, descriptive of gence for not writing letters, ii.

a Hot Day’s i* attacked in 394.

‘Blackwood’s Magazine’, i. 65, Imagination, compared to Adam’s
165; criticizes ‘Endymion*, i. 94; dream (‘Paradise Lost’), i. 73;

‘disgusting in matters of taste extremes of feeling arising from,

and morals’, i. 273; his elH’e, i. 208; powers of the, i. 281; the

K. will have reputation of, rudder of Poetr>% i. 55.

i. 56; his ‘Foliage’, i. 129, 166; Immortal work undone, ii. 510.
K.’s copy of, ii.555; Hampstead, Immortality, belief of K. and

masks, sonnets, &c., damned Thomas K., in, i. 266; K.’s long-
by, i. 128; his kindness to K. ing to believe in, ii. 546.
at Kentish Town, ii. 532, 544, ‘Imparamours’, i. 120.

560; his ‘lamentable self-de- Indiaman, scheme of becommg
lusions’, i. 32; referred to as surgeon on an, ii. 373, 375, 376,

‘Libertas’, i. 5; his ‘Literary 531.

Pocket-Book’, i. 269, 277; n.362; Indolence, i. 1 1 1 ; u. 339. 375.

his lock of Milton’s hair, i. 9 1, pa; ‘Indolence, Ode on’, referred to,

his money troubles, ii. 319; in- ii. 540, 376.

vites K. to meet Tom Moore, i. ‘Indolence, The Castle of , u. 339.

273; his ‘Nymp^’, i. 25, 26; his Inquisition, the, i. 157.

alleged ‘patrons^e’ of K., i. 55; Insulted at the Teignmouth theatre,

on ‘Preternatural History’, ii. i. 124.

337; his quarrel with Haydon, i. Intellect v. Emotions, 1. 238.
jsp, 54> 86, 90 ; on religious intoler- Invention the Polar Star of Poetry ,

ance in ‘The Examiner’, i. 23,25; i» 55* -.r •

‘Seal-breaking business’, ii. 550, j Inverary, K. writes irom, 1. 204,
560; Shelley writes to him about j 208; Duke of Argvie s Castle at,

GENERAL INDEX

i. 204; ‘The Stranger’ and the
bagpipe played at, i. 204.

Inverness, i. 189, 194, 220, 227,
230; K.’s letter from, i. 228,
2^2 ; voyage from to London, i.
249 -

Iona, see Icolmkill.

Ireby visited, i. 177.

Ireland, i. 185, 194; visited, i. 186,
230.

Irish and Scotch characters com-
pared, i. 186, 197.

‘Isabella; or, the Pot of Basil’, i.
149, 158, 166, 175, 239, 249, 2J0 ;
ih 322, 399. 425-6, 502, 522;
stanzas from, i. 149.

Tsaiah’, ii. 557.

Isis, K. boats on, i. 47.

Isle of Wight, i. 19, 25, 30; ii. 374,
376, 436, 437, 440, 507, 510,
567, See also Shanklin.

Italian language, K.’s admiration
for, i. 41-2; may learn, i. 149;
studying, ii. 414, 464.

Italy, i. 144; proposed visit, ii. 539,
540» 543» 55O5 55L 554> 556,
559; K. leaves for, ii. 562,

Jacobs, Jenny and Brown, ii.

396.

James I, portrait of, ii. 537.

Jealousies, agonies of love, ii. 518.

Jean, Burns’s, i. 193.

Jeffrey, John, Georgiana Keats’s
second husband, i. 77, 709, lyS,
137,2291 ii. ^77, 975, 55^,557,570,
487,

Jeffrey, Miss, of Teignmouth, K.’s
letters to, ii. 372, 374.

Jeffrey, Miss Fanny, ii. 373.

Jeffrey, Misses M. and S., K.’s
letter to, i. 161.

Jeffrey, Mrs., of Teignmouth, ii.
373 j 376; K.’s letter to, i. 158.

Jeffreys, the, of Teignmouth, i. 757,
158; ii. 375; biographic^ note
on, i. Hi.

Jemmy, Master, see Rice, James.

Jennings, Mrs., the grandmother,
i. xxix, xxxiii; the aimt, ii. 379,
381,434,471.

Jessy of Dumblane (Tannahill), i.
229.

Jesus and Socrates, complete dis-
interestedness of, ii. 341.

Jews and Jewesses, ii. 351, 396,
459> 469-

‘John Bull, The Review*, K. sees,
i. 96.

‘John O’Groats’, K. signs letter, i.
167.

John o’Groats, i. 208.

Jonson, Ben, ii. 375, 509.

Jove, i. 1 12, 1 13, 142.
udea, i. 26.

uhkets, John Keats ahas, i. 28.
Jupiter, ii. 364.

Justinian, i. 254.

Kean, Edmund, i. 75-6, 77, 124,
270; u. 327, 346, 400, 409, 485,
490; going to America just as
‘Otho’ is finished, ii. 408, 411,
435; hopes of his playing Lu-
dolph in ‘Otho’, ii. 471, 485;
talk with a traveller about him,

i. 199.

Keasle, Miss, i. 248, 268 ; ii. 459.
Keasle, Mr. and Mhs., i. 268.
Keats, Frances, born Jennings, i.

xxbc, xxxii ; ii. 393,

Keats, Frances Mary, or Fanny,
(afterwards Mrs. Llanos), i. xiv,
17. 56, 83, 85, 94, 174, 221, 227,
247, 257, 268, 277; ii.

324. 330. 338, 372. 436, 512,

539> 569; biographical note on,

i. xxxiii; her character still un-
formed in 1818, i. 248; her like-
ness to Tom, i. xxxiv; ii. 572; K.
sends her a note, ii. 504, 572 ; ‘very
much prisoned* from K., i. 2ii;

ii. 318; her marriage, i. xxxiii;
letter from George K. to, ii.jdo;
K.’s letters to, i. 39, 1 79, 232, 234,
240, 243, 264, 266; ii. 296, 299,
3047 3057 308, 310, 31L 3I5 j 370 j
37L 376, 378, 379. 384. 407.
478, 480, 484, 486, 499, 500,

503. 504. 508, 513. 525. 527-30.

539. 542, 543. 550, 560.

Keats, George, i. 18, 20, 22, 29,
30, 34, 40, 41, 60, 108, 124, 148,
149, 158, 160, 162, 164, 165, 170,
175, 179, 200, 221, 228, 233, 240,
243. 265; ii. 297, 305, 306, 308,

592

GENERAL INDEX

31 1. 315. 372, 373, 379, 384, ■

388, 408-9, 416, 4:8, 419, 424, ;

427, 478, 480, 485, 486, 491, i

493, 494, 497, 499, 50i, 504, i

517, 528, 529, 530, 536, 544, :

560, 561, 569, 572; biographical ;
note on, i. xxxii ; his affairs trou- i
blesome, ii. 478, 485; decides i
to go to America, i. 159; goes to !
America, i. 179; arrives, i. 243; i
ii. 370; busy copying K.’s verses, ■
ii. 492; more than a brother to j
K. , i- 228 ; birth of a daughter to, •
ii. 379; his pride in her, ii, 489; |
visits England and returns to j
America, ii. 487, 488, 497, jid, ;
529; K.’s sudden return to town I
on his accoimt, ii. 416, 430, 434;
proposes to send K. money, ii.
538^; motto from K.’s sonnet
to, i. 109; his letter from Messrs.
Ollier about ‘Poems’, 1817, i.
no; letter to Fanny K., ii. 56b;
letters to K., i. 130; ii. 538;
letter to Severn, ii. 373; extract
from K.’s letter of Spring 1817
to him, i. 55; K.’s letters to, i. 4,
16, 171.

Keats, George and Georgiana, K.’s
letters to, i. 246, 266; ii. 3 1 7, 433.

Keats, George and Thomas, i. 56,
75, 164; in France, i. 40; K.’s
letters to, i. 16, 75, 78, 85, 93,
108, 1 14.

Keats, Georgiana Augusta, bom
Wylie, i. 1 14, 131, 159, 162, 172,
178, 179, 193,207, 228,243,261;
ii. 486, 517, 539; biographical
note on, i, xxxiv ; referred to as
‘G. minor’, i. 271 ; as ‘little
George’, i. 280, 28 1 ; not happy in
America, ii. 467; serious illness,
ii. 538; K.’s tenderness and ad-
miration for, i. 165; K.’s acrostic
on her name, i. 172, ii. 446; K.’s
letter to, ii. 487.

Keats, Georgiana Emily (George
K.’s daughter), ii. 379, 439,466,
468, 471, 486, 489, 494, 498.

Keats, John, ambition, the cframa |
his greatest, ii. 481; appetite on j
Scotch tour, i. 185; attacks of 1
blood-spitting, ii. 339, 540, 558; i

change in him, ii. 460; chro-
nology' of principal events in his
life, i. xxix; cold caught in the
Island of Mull, i. 231, 233;
something wrong in his constitu-
tion, ii. 512; independence of
criticism, i. 242; death-w’arrant,
ii. 502, 30s; doctors say ‘very-
little the matter with K.’, ii. 510;
fear of domestic cares, ii. 393;
ecstasies and miseries 3iltemating.
ii. 510; faintness and tightness of
chest, ii. 527; fame, eagerness for,

i. 28; and pre-occupation with,

ii. 510, 524; fatal illness com-
mencing 3 Feb. 1820, ii. 498,
499 J 500, 303; affection for
flowers, ii. 507; food, kept from,
ii. 518; leaves off animal food, Li.
478; vegetable diet, ii. 508;
pseudo victuals, ii. 519; ‘sham
victuals’, ii. 522; forebodings of
ill, proneness to, ii. 389; will not
be the friend of idle gossips, ii.
545 ; health, his'expectedheaven’,
ii. 516; lingering on borders of,
ii. 523; health and the Spring,
lookii^ forward to, ii. 502; m-
mortal work undone, ii. 510; im-
mortality, riew-s on, i. 266, 267;
ii. 546; improving slowly, ii. 529;
in^ted at the theatre, i. 124;
change in intellect, i. 95; fits of
lethargy, i. 59, 75, 159, 193; aver-
sion to letter-writing, ii.^ 472;
early fondness for live pets, ii. 309;
disgusted with literary meii,i. 54;
hopes of literary success, ii. 485;
loans to and from various people,
ii. 3 1 4, 404; lungs attocked,ii.49g ,
502 ; views on matrimony, i . 26 1 -
2; does not regret abandoning
medidnc, ii. 430; ‘ner\^e-sh^ng’
medicine, ii. 509; medicine to
keep the pulscdownrelinquished,
ii. 524; possible return to medical
pursuits, i. 152; ii. 336, 373~'4?
384, 531, 536; mercury taken, i.
56, 237; mind discontented and
restless, ii. 519; miserly happy
and miserable, ii. 544-5; mor-
bidity of temj^ament, i. 31;
palate affairs, ii. 323-4; palpita-

593

GENERAL INDEX

tion of the heart, ii. 525; pic-
turesque, growing dislike of, ii.
402; ‘why should I be a Poet’, i.
26; poetic independence, i. 56;
will never be a popular writer,
u. 404; contempt for popularity,
i. 142; ii. 404; pressure of Tom’s
illness, i. 236; public his enemy,
i. i4i;readingpoetryinterdicted,
ii* 5053* self-criticism more pain-
ful than that of reviews, i. 242;
habit of silence and constraint in
society, i. 274; ii. 295; ‘will not
sing in a cage’, ii. 516; snuff
almost given up, i. 283; distaste
for society, i. 209; ii. 493; ‘my
Solitude is sublime’, i. 261,* sore-
throat, i. 220, 227, 227, 236, 239,
2473 277, 280, 283; ii. 296, 300,
3043 3173 3193 378, 3843 45L
4073 485; getting stouter, ii. 523;
no dangerous symptoms, ii. 508;
visions of travel, i. 139, 143;
sensible of weakness of body, ii.
407,- women, feeling towards, i.
209; ii. 494; ‘inadequacy of’, i.
281; influence of, i. 210; ten-
dency to class them with ‘roses
and sweetmeats’, ii. 562.

Keats, Thomas, Junior, i. 1 8, 20, 2 1 ,
22, 40, 74, 75, 93, 1 19, 122, 123,
125, 128, ISO, 133, 134, 138, 139,
148, 158, 163, 164, 165, 166, 1 71,
^72} 1733 ^743 1 81, 185, 194,228,
2333 234, 235, 240, 243, 244,
246, 247, 248, 255, 257, 260, 261,
262, 263, 264, 265; ii. 301, 545,
3743 378, 501; biographical note
on, i. xxxiii ; his death, i. 266,
sS'S; ii. 382 ; his estate, ii. 30 1 , 467;
health improves atTeignmouth,i.
143, 146, 15 1 ; ill while K. in Scot-
land, i. 252, 233; his last days, i.
266; his likeness to Fanny, i, xxxivj
ii. 572; his low spirits, i. 144; pres-
sure of his illness on K., i. 236;
stays at Margate with K., i. 26;

K, unable to go with him to
Devonshire, i. 68; but proposes
to follow him thither, i. 75; K.

to send him to Lisbon, i.

57; visits France with George, i.

40; his view on immortality, i.

594

266; Wells’s treatment of him
h. 344, 351; K.’s letters to, i!
1873 1743 185, 194, 200, 21s;,
221.

Keats, Thomas, Senior, i. xxix
xxxii; ii. 393. ’

Kelly, Mr., i. 186.

Kemble, Charles, i. 278.

Kendal, K. visits, i. 168, 171.
Kendal Castle, i. 169.

Kennerley, Mr. Mitchell, i. xv, 67.
Kent, Bessie, i. 28, 81, <97, 72p.
Kentish Town, ii. 569; contem-
plated removal to, ii. 530, ^/j;r*
K.’s letters from, ii. 532-47.
Kentucky, ii. 479.

Kerrera, Isle of, i. 215; ii. 447.
Keswick, i. 173, 175; K.’s letter
from, 1. 174.

Kilmelfort, i. 206“.

King’s Teignton, near Teign-
mouth, i. 126; ii. ^74.

Kmgston, Commissioner of stamps,
i. 77, 80, 81, 1 14, 140, 143, 276!
Kmgston and Co., i. 85.
Kmgswells, K. writes from, i. 198.
Kirk, the ‘horrible dominion’ of
the, i. 187.

Kirk AUoway, i. 191, 197 igg
212, 232.

Kmkcudbright,i. 179,181, 186,228.
Kirkman, i. 291; beaten and
robbed in Pond Street, i. 269;
‘villainous trick’ of his Uncle
William, i. 290.

Kirkoswald, i. 198; K.’s letter con-
tinued at, i. 197.

Kirkstone, i. 169, 172.

KneUer, Sir Godfrey, ii. 537.
Knowledge, needful for thinking
people, i. 152; no enjoyment but
drinking of, i. 146.

Knox, John, ii. 321.

Kohler, Dr. Reinhold, ii. jpo.
Kotzebue, August von, ii. 445;
assassination of, ii. 346; ‘The
Stranger’, a drama by, i, 204.

‘La Belle Dame sans Merci’, ii. 356.
Lacon, Fool, Esqre, ii. 489,

^ 491 *

Lacy’s, the, ii. 301.

Lady Bellaston, ii. 453.

GENERAL INDEX

Lakes, K.’s tour to the, i. 167-77. '
Lamb, Charles, i. 270; ii. 537;
tipsy and insulting at Haydon’s, j
i. 80; a witticism of, ii. 468; his ,
essay on Valentine’s Day attri- i
buted to Ollier, ii. 320, 320. :

Lamb, Dr,, ii. 343. ‘

‘Lamia’, ii. 332, 426; first part i
finished, ii, 388; half finished, ii. i
399; finished, ii. 414; specimen ;
sent to Taylor, ii. 415; K.’s re- 1
assurance on looking over, ii. j

439* 1

‘Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St.
Agnes, and other Poems’ (1820),

i. xxLx-xxxi ; ii. 3gi, 522, 539,
544, 551; not to have a preface,
ii- 323 ; ‘coming out with ver>" low
hopes’, ii. 536; a literary success,
ii- 559 > ^ot popular among
ladies, ii. 562; its sale very slow,

ii. 562 ; K. sends Shelley a copy,
ii. 554*

Lancaster, i. 171, 176, 180.
Lancaster Castle, i. 169.

‘Land of Harpsicols’, i. 107.
Landseer, i. 80.

Landseers, all the, i. 94.

Lane, E. W., ii. jpo. ^

‘Laon and Cythna’, i. 77, 77, 166.
‘Laputan printing press’, i. 190.
Larch Brook, i. 126.

Latin, proposed study of, ii. 465.
LawTence, Sir Thomas, ii. 57/.
Leatherhead, K.’s letters posted at,
i. 68, 71.

Leech-gatherer (Wordsworth’s), i.

50-

Leghorn, ii. 556.

Leicester, Earl of, ‘a promising
subject*, ii. 481.

Leicester, Sir John, ii. 475; K.

\-isits his galle^% ii. 345.

Lely, Sir Peter, ii. 537.

Letterfinlay, K.’s letter from, i.
221 -

Letters, jocular classification of, i.
^54* . .

Letter-wntmg, dissertation on, 1.

235; K.’s aversion to, ii. 472- ^^
Lewis, David, i. 257, 268, 277; ii.
qro, 222, 501; c^ K. ‘quite the
little poet’, ii. 320, 320.

‘Lewis XIV’, ii. 444.

‘Libertas’ (Leigh Hunt), i. 5.
Libya, i. 26.

Life of a man of any worth, an
allegor\% ii. 327; a mansion with
chambers, i. 156-8; a pleasant
life, K.’s idea of, i. 1 1 1 ; projected
by K., i. 139.

Lincluden, ruins of, \isited, i. 180.
Lincoln, Bishop of, i. 63.

Lindon, Mrs., married name of
Fanny Brawme, i. Iv.

‘Lines on seeing a Lock of Milton’s
Hair’, i. 91.

‘Lines written in the Highlands
after a visit to Bums’s Country’,
i- 213-

Lisle, Mande\ille and, ii. 410.
Liston, John, i. 278.

‘Literaiy^ Kings’, Scott and Byron,

i. 278.

Literary men, K. ‘quite disgusted
with’, i. 54.

‘Literary Pocket-book’, Leigh
Hunt’s, i. 1 21, 269, 277; ii. 562.
Little, i. 155.

Little Britain, i. 142, 160, 208.
‘Little Red Riding Hood’, i. 258.
Live pets, K.’s early fondness for,

ii. 309.

Liverpool, journeys to, i. 1 79; ii.457,
497 ; K.wxites two letters to, i. 1 78.
Llanos, Mrs., see Keats, Frances
Mary.

Llanos, Sehor Valentin, msuries
Fanny Keats, i. xx.xiii.

‘Lloyd, Lucy Vaughan’, ii. 537,

562- , ..

Loans to various people, u. 314,
404-

Loch Awe, 1. 205, 206, 232.

Loch Craigiph, i. 206; best inn
near described, i. 206.

Loch F>-ne, i. 202, 204.

Loch Lomond, i. 1 94, 232 ; descrip-
tion and sketch of, i. 201 .

I Loch na Keal, i. 216; ii. 4^.

I Locker-Lampson, Frederick, ii.
i 515.

i Lockhart, John Gibson, i. 97.

; Lodore, falls of, i. 173, i75*
i London Bridge, K. lands at on
I arrival from Cromarty-, i. 233.

595

GENERAL INDEX

London Coffee House, a dance at,
i. 87.

‘London, miasma of’, disfigures
Lake district, i. 168.

Long Island, i. 206, 216.

Long-Wellesley, William Pole
Tylney, i. 38.

‘Lord Byron and some of his Con-
temporaries’, i. 22,

Lorenzo’s Ghost’s words applied
to Fanny Brawne, ii. 502.

Loughrigg, i. 169, 172.

Louis XIV, ii. 444.

Louis XVIII, ‘Fat Louis’, ii. 409.

Louisville, i. 767; ii. 370, 517; state
of society at, ii. 492, 493.

Love, or death, ii. 479; not a play-
thing, ii. 542; K. tries to ‘reason
against the reasons’ of, ii. 477 ;
the ridiculousness of, ii. 437; a
wonder and delight, ii. 503.

Lovel, Mr., in ‘The Antiquary’, i.
203.

‘Lovers, A Party of’, ii. 437.

‘Low-dore’, Falls of, i. 173, 175.

Lowell, Amy, her ‘John Keats’
referred to, i. p, /j; ii. 557, 516.

Lowther, William, Earl of Lons-
dale, i. 202, 202.

Lowthers, i. 168.

Lucifer, i. 44.

Lucius, Sir [O’Trigger], i. 292.

‘Lucy Vaughan Lloyd’, see Lloyd.

Ludolph, in ‘Otho the Great’, ii.
397-

Luing, Island of, i. 206,

Lyceum, i. 270; ii. 439.

‘Lycidas’, see Milton.

Lycidas, the ‘Pontif Priest’ of
Fingai’s Cave, i. 219; ii. 451.

Lydia Languish, i. 123.

Macbeth, i. 217; ii. 449.

Machiavelli, ii. 465.

Mackenzie, Henry, i. 282.

Mackintosh, Sir James, ii. 388,

Maclean, schoolmaster on Iona, i.
217; ii. 449.

Macready, William Charles, a
possible Ludolph in ‘Otho’, ii.
483.

Madagascar, i. 189.

Magdalen, a beaufej name, i. 1 24.

Magdalen Hall, i. 39.

Mahomet, i. 228.

‘Maia, Fragment of an Ode to’, i.
153-

Maiden-Thought, the second
chamber of life, i. 156.

‘Maid’s Tragedy, The’ (Beaumont
and Fletcher), ii. 330.

Major’s Wife, K.’s adventure with
a, ii.425, 469.

Man, formed by circumstances, ii.

361-5; like a hawk, ii. 340.
Manasseh, i. 104; ii. 396.
Manchester Massacre, ii. 445, 4^5.
Manchester weavers, ii. 435, 467.
Mancur, or Manker, i. 290; ii.

‘M^deville’ (Godwin), i. 81; ii.
410.

Mansfield, Lord, ii. 349.

Margate, K.’s letters from, i. 4, 22,
28, 34.

‘Maria Crowther’, leaves London,
ii. 3621 K.’s letter to Brown from,
ii. 563.

Mariane, see Reynolds, Mariane.
Martin, John, i. 50, 50, 75, 133,
273; ii- 35L 356, 392, 437* 520.
Martin, Miss, ii. 326, 437.

Mary Queen of Scots, picture of, i.
18, 53.

Masks, K. not able to expurga-
torize more’, i. 60.

Massinger, Philip, ii. 383,383, 429.
‘Matchless Orinda, The’ (Kath-
erine Philips), i. 48.

Mathew, Caroline, i. 290.
‘Mathew, George Felton, Epistle
to’, referred to, i. 4.

Mathew, Mrs., i. 290.

Matthew, in Wordsworth’s ‘Two
April Mornings’, i. 104.
Matthews, Charles, ii. 442.

‘Maw, the Apostate’, tragedy by,
n,3iQ, 319,

May bole, K. writes from, i. 190,

198.

Medicine, see Keats, John.
Medwin, Thomas, ii. 567.

‘Meg Merrilies’, ballad, i. 180; re-
ferred to, i. 185.

Meg Merrilies coimtry, i. 185.
Meleager, ii. 397.

GENERAL INDEX

Melody in verse, the principle of,

i. iiy.

‘Memoirs of Menage’, ii. 475.
Memory ‘ should not be called
knowledge’, i. in.

Mercury, i. 112, 113; ii. 495.
Merlin, i. 135.

‘Mermaid Tavern, Lines on the’, i.
106.

Methodists exposed by Horace
Smith, i. 109.

Midas, ii. 370, 412.

Millamant, ii. 303.

Millar, or MiUer, Miss Mary, i.
248, 268, 270; u. 319, 354, 436,
459) 489) 5*7) 539; an heiress
with ‘dying swains’, i. 268; her
‘ten suitors’, i. 292.

Millar, or Miller, Mrs., i. 248, 257,
259; ii* 3543 436, 51735^73 539*
Millar’s, or Miller’s, K. and
George K. dine at, ii. 489.
Milman, Henry Hart, K. sees his
‘Fazio’, i. 1 09, iog\ the old drama
damned by, i. 128.

Milner, Isaac and Joseph, ii. 337,

337 *

Milton, John, i. 149, 154, 254, 255;

ii. 309, 465, 522; his ‘Comus’, i.
132, 157, 210; ii* 342 ; his genius
compared with Wordsworth’s, i.
153, 1 56-7; his ‘Hierarchies’,
ii. 407; his influence shown in
‘Hyperion’, ii. 419; his ‘II Pen-
seroso’, i. 37, 100, 104, 261; his
Latinized language, ii. 465; his
‘Lycidas’, i. 132; ii. 510; ‘Para-
dise Lost’, i. 73, 132, 151, 156,
169, 208, 237; ii. 400, 406, 410,
465, 471, 481; his philosophy, i.
156; a picture of, i. 18; and Sal-
masixis, a comic narrative, i. 1 3 1 ;
K.’s lines ‘On seeing a Lock of
Milton’s Hair’, i. 91.

Minerva, i. 12; ii. 495.

Miniature of K. by Severn at
Royal Academy, ii. 310, 31 1.
Mississippi, i. 159.

Mitchell, Miss, i. 162.

Momus, ii. 496.

Monkhouse, Jwir., i. 80; ii. 330,
381, 557.

Montagu, Lady Mary Wortiey,i.47.

Mont Blanc, i. 139.

Moore, Thomas, i. 157, 282; ii.
335; K. in\ 4 ted by Hunt to meet,

i. 273; K.’s liking for, i. 157; his
song ‘There’s not a look’, ii. 515,
5/5; his ‘Tom Crib’s Memorial
to Congress’, ii. 330, 4^5.

Moore’s Almanack, i. 39, 119; ii.
4593 497*

‘Morning Chronicle, The’, ad-
vertisement to poets in, i. 71;
letters defending K. against ‘The
Quarterly’ in, i. 240, 240, 250.
Morris, William, ii. 590.

Mortimer Street, Wordsworth living
in, i. 80.

Moses, ii. 454.

Mother Hubbard, i. 258.

Mother Shipton, ii. 335.

Motto for ‘T amia, Isabella’, &c.,
himting for, ii. 523.

Moultrie, ‘poor Johmiy’, i. 57,57.
‘Mount Blanc’, i. 139.

Mount Rydal, ii. 385.

Moimtains, effect of, i. 210.
Mozart, i. 252, 273.

Muggins, or Mullins, Miss, ii. 303.
Mulgrave, Lord, ii. 475, 475.

Mull, Isle of, i. 207, 215, 230, 231.
233, 247; ii. 447, 448; K. writes
from, i. 21 1.

MuUings’s, the, ii. 301.

Mullins, Miss, ii. 303.

Murray, [John], ii. 321, 463; jocose
propos^ to offer love letters to,

ii. 526.

Musical instruments, after-dinner
imitation of, i. 79, 79, 140, 140,

Naples, disgust at Government of,
ii. 570; quarantine at, ii. 566,
568, 572; K.’s letters from, ii.
566, 568.

Napoleon, harm done to libertv^ by,
i. 254.

‘Negative capability’ needed by a
man of achievement, i. 77.
‘Nehemiah Muggs’, i. 114; MS.
lent by Horace Smith to K., i.
109.

Nelson, Lord, a letter of, i. 144.
Nero, ii. 333.

Neville, Henry% i. 271.

n

597

X

GENERAL INDEX

New Holland, ii. 497.

New Jerusalem Chapel, ii. 483.
New York, ii. 327.

‘New York World’, ii. 487,
Newfoundland fishermen, ii. 373.
Newport, i. 19; ii. 383, 386.
Newton Abbot, ii. 374,

Newton marsh, i. iq6.

Newton Stewart, K. writing at, i.
186. ^

Nicolini, Signor, i. 38.

Niece, K.’s, see Keats, Georgiana
Emily.

Nile, sonnets on, written by K.,
Shelley and Hunt, i. iio’.
Nimrod, i. 44.

Niobe, i. 60.

Nithsdale, i. 178.

‘North American Review, The’, i.
767.

Northcote, ii. 345.

Norval, ii. 486.

‘Nose, paying through the’, i. 79.
Nova Scotia, i. 124.

Novello, i. 270, 273.

Novello, Mrs., i. 277.

‘Nymphs, The’ (Leigh Hunt), i.
25, 26, 104.

*0 Sorrow’, song, i. 62, 67; re-
ferred to, i. 73.

Oban, i. 216, 220; ii. 448; K.

writes from, i. 207.

‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’, referred
to, i. 72.

‘Ode on Indolence’, referred to, ii.

3 f> 375 ‘

Ode on Melancholy’, referred to.

‘Ode to a Nightingale’, referred to,
ii- 5^^,525,377; copiedbyGeorge
K., ii. 492.

‘Ode to Apollo’, referred to, i.
167.

Ode ‘To Autumn’, ii. 42 1 ; referred
to, ii. 418.

‘Ode to Maia, Fragment of an’, i.

‘Ode to Psyche’, ii. 367; referred
to, i. 17S,

Ollier, Charles, i. 9, 77, 109, 259,
277; ii. 320; music damned by,
i. 128.

Ollier, G. andj., i. 77; letter to
George K. about ‘Poems’, 1817,
i. no.

‘On Fame’, two sonnets, ii. 365.

‘On Oxford’, a Parody, i. 51.

‘On the Sea’, sonnet, i. 20.

‘One, Two, Three, Four’ (Rey-
ii. 396, 439, 439.

O Neil, Miss Eliza, li. 334.

Ophelia, the name, i. 120.

Opie, Mrs., i. 109.

Ops, i. 245.

Oriental Tale, An, ii. 390, 550,

‘Original Poems’, by Jane and
Ann Taylor, i. 41, 41.

‘Orinda, the matchless’ (Katherine
Philips), i. 48.

Oromanes, ii. 364.

Orpheus, i. 68; ii. 300.

‘Otho the Great’, ii. 428, 431, 463,
483; first act finished, ii. 388;
progress in Isle of Wight, ii. 395,
397; foim acts completed, ii. 399;
Act 5, ii. 401; finished, ii. 404,
408, 434; being copied by
Brown, ii. 409; K. calls himself
‘midwife to Brown’s plot’, ii.
414; ‘a tolerable tragedy’, ii,
435; accepted at Drury Lane, ii.
485; Brown withdraws MS. from
Drury Lane, ii.505; negotiations
with Covent Garden, ii. 490;
lines quoted from, ii. 471.

Oxford, i. 69, 1 18; ii. 325; K.’s
letters from, i. 37-52.

‘Oxford Herald, The’, i. xliii, 164.

Page, Mr. Frederick, ii. 366.

Paine, Thomas, ii. 444.

Painting, abstract idea of, i. 139.

Pangloss, Dr., i. 231.

Panorama of ship at North Pole,
K. visits, ii. 356.

Pantomime, K. goes to Christmas,
i. 77; criticizes it in ‘The Cham-
pion’, i. 78.

Paolo and Francesca, ii. 352.

‘Paradise Lost’, see Milton.

Paris, i. 40, 80; ii. 436, 512.

Park, Mungo, i. 80.

Parson, the, ‘the black badger with
tri-comered hat’, ii. 336.

‘Parson-romeo*, ii. 401.

598

GENEIL\L INDEX

Parsons, K.’s views on, ii. 322-3.
‘Party of Lovers, A’, ii. 437.
Passport, K. acknowledges, ii. 563.
Patmore, Coventry^ i. 20.

Patmore, Peter George, i. 155, jjj.
Patmos, i. 219; ii. 450.

‘Patriotism, the glor\' of’, i. 1 77,
Payne, John, ii. 3^.

Payne, John Howard, i. 270.
Peachey, i. 271; ii. 317, 327.
Peachey family, i. 79.

Peacock, Thomas Love, ii. 306;

‘has damned satire’, i. 128.
‘Penetralium of mystery, the’, i. 77.
Penmanship, good and bad, ii.

521*

Penrith Road, i. 176.

Peona, i. 60.

‘Pepin, King, The History of’, i.
39 *

Percy Street, see Hesseys, the.
Perfectibility, K.’s views as to, ii.
362.

Periman, Miss, i. 162.

Periodicii literature, resolution to
work, for, ii. 425, 428, 430, 431,
432.

‘Peter Bell’ (Wordsworth) traves-
ted by Reynolds, ii. 345; K. re-
views the travesty, ii. 354-5.
Petition to the Governors of St.
Luke, ii. 335.

Petrarcal coronation, a, i. 164.
Petzelians, a religious sect, i. 23, 23.
Phaeton, i. 26.

Philadelphia, i. 233, 247, 258; ii.

327-

Philips, Mrs. Katherine, i. 48.
Philips, old (Dilke’s gardener), i.
45 *

‘PhSobiblon, The’, ii. 48^,
Philosopher’s stone, i. 52-3.
‘Philosophical Back Garden’, i.
132.

Philosophy, K. determines to study.

i. 146.

Phoebus, i. 1 13, 135.

Picturesque, growing dislike of the.

ii. 402.

‘Pilgrim’s Progress’, i. 39.

Pindar, Peter, i. 79, 109, 162; ii
500, 500.

Pizarro, ii. 361.

‘Platonique Chevalresque, La’, ii.

423-

Pliny, 11. 336.

‘Plutarch’s Lives’, i. 30.

PKmouth, K. thinks of seeing, i.
128, i2g.

‘Pocket-&ok,TheLiterar)’’,i. 121,
269, 277 ; ii. 562.

‘Poems’, 1817, letter from Haydon
on issue of, i. 14; letter from
Olliers on failure of, i, no; ‘my
first blights’, ii. 553.

‘Poet, quite the little’, said of K. by
Lewis, ii. 320.

‘Poet, the Xorthem’, i.e. Words-
worth, i. 47.

I ‘Poet, why should I be a’, i. 26.

I Poetical character, its lack of
I identity, i. 245.

I Poetry, K.’s axioms in, i. 1 16; can-
I not exist without, i. 2 1 ,* effect of
wTiting on K, , i. 35 ; cannot write
‘when fevered in a contrary*
direction’, i. 31; not so fine a
thing as Philosophy, ii. 342;
fancy the sails of, i. 55; genius
; of, i. 243; ‘should be great and
; unobtrusive’, i. 103; imagina-
I tion the rudder of, i. 55; xnven-
i tion the Polar Star of, i. 55; ‘a
i mere Jack a lanthern’, L 120;
i ‘something else wanting’, i, 149;

; K. never wrote with the ‘ Shadow

j of public thought*, i. 141,

! Poets, advertisement in ‘The
I Chronicle’ to, i. 71; K. e.xpects
to be among the English, after
i death, i. 250; vices of, ii. 295.

! Politics, English and European, i.

I 254-5; u. 443-5.

I Pope, Alexander, i. 133; 11. 383;

I his ‘Homer’, i. 30.

Port Patrick, i. 170, 174, 185, 186,
188, 189, 212, 230.

Porteous, Beilby, ii. 332,

Porter, Jane, ii. 295, 3 19; her letter
about ‘Endymion’, i. 271,

I Porter, the Misses, i. 271.
i Portland Roads, ii. 565.

! Portraits of K., in Haydon’s ‘Jeru-
! Salem’, i. 32; Haydon’s offer
I one for frontispiece to ‘Endy-
i mion’, i. 89, 94; Brown’s profile,

X 2

599

GENERAL INDEX

ii. 380; Severn’s miniatures, i. Reynolds’s defence, i. 75; letters
xxxiv, is; one exhibited at Royal in ‘The Morning Chronicle’ de-
Academy, ii. 510, 31 1; Fanny fending K., i. 240, 240,

K.’s view of portraits and mask, ‘Quite the little poet’, K. called, ii.

i. xxxiv. 320.

Portraits, visit to an exhibition of,

ii. 537. Rabelais, Hazlitt on, i. 115.

Portsmouth coach, wet journey on, RadclifFe, Mrs., i. 123; ii. 322.

ii. 384. Rakehell, i. 69.

Portsmouth, the ‘Maria Growther’ Raleigh, Sir Walter, i. 37.

returns to, ii. 564. Raphael, i. 10, 34; and Guido con-

*Pot of Basil, The’, see ‘Isabella’. trasted, i. 281-2.

Potts, Mr. L. J., ii. 341. Redhall, Mr., i. 82, 275, 282.

Poultry (Cheapside), K. living near Reeve, John, ii. 433.

the, i. 10, 63. Reflexion and reading, their re-

Pregnant woman, horrid story of lative value, i. iii.

a, ii. 484. Reformation, effects of, i. 157.

Present, an anonymous, i. 2 7 1 , 279. ‘Regent, fat*, ii. 409.

Prices, the, ii. 301. Religious beliefs, i. 120,266; ii.546.

‘Primrose Island’, the I. of Wight, ‘Rest and be thankful’, a seat, not

i. 19. an inn, i. 202, 232.

‘Principle of beauty in all things’, Restraint, impatience of youth

ii. 510. imder, i. 145; only relieved by

‘Prison, a pleasant’, ii. 498. composing, i. 274.

Procter, Bryan Waller (‘Barry Retford,Taylorstaysat,ii. 412-13.
Cornwall’), K.’s estimate of as Reticence recommended to F anny
a poet, ii. 512; his letter to K., ii. K., i. 244.

320\ a note to K., ii. 524; sends Retribution, a Tragedy, noticed
K. his books, ii. 51 1, 514, 520. by K. in ‘The Champion’, i. 78.
‘Prometheus’ (Shelley), K. expect- ‘Revelation’, ii. 430.

ii* 553* Reviewers, their impotence against

‘Prophecy, A’, to George K. in good work, ii. 474.

America, i. 255. Reviews, growing power of, ii. 325.

Proserpine, i. 208. ‘Revolt of Islam, The’, i. 78.

Protector of Fanny K., ii. 305. Reynolds, Mrs. Charlotte, i. 57,
Protestantism discussed, i. 157. 252; ii. 309, 326, 499; biographi-

Proteus, i. 220; ii. 451. cS note on, i. xxxix; copy of

Proud man, definition of a, ii. 405. ‘Endymion’ to be bound for, i.
‘Proverbs’, i. 146. ^ 166, 194; K.’s letter to, ii. 293.

Prowse, J^^s. I. S., i. lii, 124. Reynolds, Miss Charlotte, i. 28g;

‘Psalms’, i. 43, 203; ii. 432, 522. ii. 233] biographical note on,

‘Psyche, Ode to’, ii. 367; referred i. xxxviii.

to, i. 176. Reynolds, Jane, afterwards Mrs.

Pun-making, in desperation at Hood, i. 20, 39, 43, 31 , 54, 61,

Naples, ii. 572; v. pin-making, 67, 74, 91; biographical note on,

ii. 4^7* i* xxxviii ; K.’s letters to, i. 42,

‘Purplue’, a new colour, ii. 509. 61, 234.

Pythagoras, i. 132. Reynolds, Jane and Mariane, K.’s

letter to, i. 37.

Quarantine at Naples, see Naples. Reynolds, John Hamilton, i. 12,
‘Quarterly Review, The’, i. 23, 65, 13, 17, 18, 34, 36, 45, 54, 55, 56,

165, j66, 242, 249, 250; ii. 325, 57, 60, 67, 76, 77, 78, 84, 89, 108,

329, 452; attack on K. in and 115, 133, 146, 160, 165, 198, 208,

600

GENERAL INDEX

212, 234, 236, 237, 249, 260,5%, I 194, 236, 239, 258, 269, 278; ii.

278; 11. 319, 324, 339, 344, 351, i 319, 324, 339, 356,388,406, 427,

354^ 35^5 420, 421, 424, 426, ■ 496, 520, 567; biographical note

428, 429, 430, 436, 463, 483, I on, i. xliv; abandons Bailey, ii.

508, 527, 572; biographi<^ note | 326; his character, ii. 495; his

on, i. xxxvi; anecdote of, ii. 460 ; i generositv’* to Re\'nolds, i. xxxviii,

his articles in ‘The Yellow i 19/; his ill-health, i. 54, 69, 93, 95;

Dwarf", i. no; metrical versions ii. 385, 387, 39 1 , 394-5, 5^, 567;

of Boccaccio to be produced K."s ‘most sensible and even wise"
with K., i. 149; his character, ii. acquaintance, ii. 436-7; his pro-

493; Comtable, the l^kseller, posal to visit the I. of Wight with

makes him an offer, i. 97; de- i K., ii. 374, 376, 379; his depar-

fends K. in ‘The Alfred", i. 15, 1 ture from Shankiin, ii. 392; the

250; become an ‘Edinburgh | slang of his set, i. 79; K.’s letters

Reviewer", i. 269; his farce ‘One, to, i. 13 1, 264; ii. 483, 506.
Two, Three", &c., ii. 396, 439, ‘Richard Duke of York", K. criti-
459; his ‘Farewell to the Muses", cizes Kean in, i. 76.
i. his ‘Garden of Florence", 1 Richards, C., printer of K."s first
i. J05, 149, 755; serious illness of, book, i. 1 2, J5, 1 09; ii. 3 1 9,346495 .
i. 107, 1 15, takes to law, ii. Richards, Thomas, ii. 495.

428, 430, 439; articled to Mr. Richards’s, the, ii. 302.

Fladgate, i. igii marries Miss Richardson, Samuel, ii. 446; ‘com-
Drewe, i. 5^, 577; quarrels with ing the Richardson", i. 252;
Haydon, i. 86, 90; his ‘Peter . ‘Richardson self-satisfaction", ii.
Bell", ii. 345; K."s revdew for : 344; ‘rummaging about like any

‘The Examiner", ii. 354-5; his j Richardson", ii. 475.

‘Robin Hood’ sonnets, i. J05; j ‘Rimini, The Story of", S€e Hunt,
K.’s answer to, i. 104; his : J. H. L.

‘Romance of Youth", i, 152; his I Rmg, a consecrated, ii. 515.
letter and sonnet to Haydon, i. i Rio della Plata, ii. 497.
ii; his portrait by Severn, i. 5%; ! Ritchie, Joseph, i. 80, 278.

‘sails on the salt seas", ii. 520; his | Robertson, William, K. reads his

witty behaviour in a fix, ii, 459; | ‘America’, ii. 361.

his letter to K. about ‘Isabella’, 1 ‘Robin Hood", i. 102, 104.

i. 549; K.’s poetical epistle to, i. ! ‘Robin Huid", baUad, i. 188.

134; K.’s letters to, i, 13, 18,46, ! ‘Robinson Crusoe", ii. 489.

51, 68, 98, 102, III, 122, 134, j ‘Robinson Crusoe, little", i. 45, 45.
141, 143, 148, 151, 190, 237; ii. I Robinson, Henry Crabb, ii. 537;
388, 406, 417, 51 1. I calls on K., i. 109.

Reynolds, Marine, afterwards | Robinson, Miss, i, 276.

Mrs. Green, i. 39, 43, 44, 45, 54, Rodweli and Martin, i. 50, 85; ii.
63, 74; bio^aphic^ note on, i. 392.
xxxviii; Bailey"slove affair with, Rogers, Samuel, ii. 318, 335.
i* 37; ii* 325-6, 400; Dilke’s Romance, i. 42; a, ‘is a fine thing",
opinion of, i. 209. i. 131 ; K. projects a, i. 53.

Reynolds, the Misses, i. 1 7, 20, 22, Rome, letter from Brown received
37. 50, 54. 57. 79. W. 238, 269 ; at, ii. 572; K.’s letter from, u.570

ii. 318,420,491,494; K.’s mixed Rondeau, K.’s conception of the,

feebbgs towards, i. 252-3. i. 289.

Reynolds, the, i. 75. Ronsard, Pierre, K. translates a

‘Reynolds’s Cove", i. 47, 5 1 . line from, i. 23 7 ; and a sonnet c£,

Rice,James,i.22,50,57,67,75,79, i. 239, 239; begim a sonnet in

82, 95, 123, 150, 152, 160, 165, French of Ronsard, 11. 423.

601

GENERAL INDEX

Rosenbach, Dr., i. xv; ii. 488,

Ross, Captain (afterwards Sir
John), polar expedition of, i.

J268.

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, i. 1441 ii.
^22.

‘Round Table, The’ (Hazlitt), i.
50 -

Rousseau, ii. 381, 513-14.

‘Rox of the Burrough’, i. 94.
Royal Academy, the, ii. 474, 480,
483 -

Rusk, Professor Ralph Leslie, i. xi,

j6y.

Russia, i. 27, 255.

Russia, Emperor of, orders draw-
ings from Severn, i. 82.

Ruth, i. 187.

Rydal, i. 168, 170, 171, 175, 177;,
ii. 385.

‘St. Agnes’ Eve’, see ‘Eve of St.

Agnes, The’.

St. Anthony, ii. 461.

St. Botolph’s Church, Bishopsgate,

i. 264,

St. Catherine’s Hill, i. 18.

St. Colxunba, i. 217; ii. 448.

St. Cross, Foimdation of, ii. 408,
462, 475.

St. David’s, Bishop of, ii. 302, 322.
St.John, i. 219; ii. 430, 450.

‘St. Mark, The Eve of’, see ‘Eve of
St. Mark, The’.

St. Paul, i. 3.

St. Stephen, Church of, Coleman
Street, i. xxxiii, 266,

St. Thomas’s Hospital, i. 3,
Salamander, in ‘Chorus of Fairies’,

ii. 358-61.

Salmasius, i. 132.

Salmon, Haydon’s servant, ii. 296.
‘Salvation, a grander system of’,
ii. 363.

Sam, see Brawne, Samuel.

Sancho, i. 103.

Sandt, ii. 346, 445.

Sannazaro, ii. 465.

Sanstead, K. visits, ii. 322.

Santon of Chaldee, i. 136.

Sappho, i. 47.

Saturn, i. 245.

Saimders, Mr., ii. 437.

Sawrey, Dr., i. 78, 83, 239; a
rout at, u. 343.

Sawrey, Mrs., ii. 344.

Scarba Sound, i. 2^.

Scawfell, i. 176.

‘Scenery is fme’, ‘human nature
finer’, i. 120.

Schiller, ii. 424.

Scotch, K.’s prejudices against the,

i. 178; wanting in imagination,

ii. 339; and Irish characters
compared, i. 186, 197.

Scotland, proposal to accompany
Brown to, i. 139, 159, 165;
visited, i. 177-231; ii. 446-51;
coarseness of food in, i. 205, 231;
return to London by sea, i. 231,
233, 249; second visit proposed,
ii. 529; and abandoned, ii. 530.

Scott, John, i. 241; killed by
Christie, i. 75; visited by Tom K.
in Paris, i. 80.

Scott, Mrs., i. 109, 709, i2g, 130, 140.

Scott, Sir Walter, i, 115; ‘The
Antiquary’, i. 82, 203; ‘Cockney
School’ articles attributed by
Hunt to, i. 97; compared with
Smollett, i. 81 ; a ‘literary King’,
i. 278; Hazlitt contrasts author
of ‘Waverley’ with author of
‘Caleb Williams’, i. 287 ; ‘ Heart
of Midlothian’ (opera), ii. 356.

‘Sea, On the’, sonnet, i. 20.

Selden’s ‘Titles of Honour’, K.’s
copy, ii. 338.

Seneca, ii. 333.

Separation from Fanny Brawne on
account of illness, ii. 504.

Separation mitigated according to
degrees of familiarity, i. 267-8.

Seijeant in Fielding’s ‘Tom Jones’,
i. 82.

Severn, Joseph, i.xxxiv, 12, 12, 79,
zi8, 265; ii. 380, 392, 437, 457,
547, 5S5, 567. 569. 570,571, 572;
biographical note on, i. xli ; his
‘Gave of Despair’, ii. 480, 482,
303; dines with K. and Brown, ii.
334; exhibits his miniature of K.
and his ‘Hermia and Helena’, ii.
570, 31 1 ; K. resents a falsehood
about him, i. g8\ order for draw-
ings from Emperor of Russia, i.

602

GENERAL INDEX

82; his typhus fever, i. 249; letter
from George K. to, ii. 575; K.’s
letters to, i. 163; ii. 310, 479,
482.

Shakespeare, i. 44, 117, 120, 12 1,
I49 j i55j 258, 268, 282; ii. 309,
400, 513, 522; his birthday to be
kept at Ollier’s, i. 109; his Chris-
tianity’,!. 25; enoughfor 113,1.32;
compared to Hainlet, ii. 375;
his enormous ‘negative capa-
bility’, i. 77; Gifford misrepre-
sents Hazlitt’s views on, ii, 331-
2; K.’s invitation to Reynolds to
exchange notes on, i. 21; ‘led a
life of Allegory’, ii. 327; K. read-
ing his poems, i. 69; ^ portrait
in K.’s lodgings at Carisbrooke,
i. 18; given to K. by his land-
lady, i. 30; ii. 321; insulted by
servant, ii. 493; tassels made for
it by Georgiana K., ii. 321, 3SI,
49 1 > 4931 presiding genius to K.,

i. 30; his seal, i. 125, 125; his
sonnets, i. 69, 70; how did he sit
when writing ‘To be or not to
be’? ii. 330; could a ‘superior
being’ see ‘nothing or weakness
in’ him, i. 281; K.’s sonnet on
‘King Lear’, i. 95; ‘AH’s Well
that Ends Well’, i. 54; ‘Antony
and Cleopatra’, i. 34, 200 —
Dolabella and Enobarbus, i. 33;
‘As You Like It’— Jaques, i. 104;
Coriolanus,ii.33i ; ‘Cymbeline’,

ii. 477 — Imogen, i. 43, 245;
‘Hamlet’, i. 9, 27, 64, 120, 153,
I54;u.30i, 328,329,330, 428,433,
458; Ophelia, i. 1 20; ii. 548; ‘The
Mouse-trap’, i. 200; ‘i Henry
IV’, i . 1 5, 7 1 j 86, 23 1 , 32 7 ; ii. 563 ;
‘2 Henry IV’, i. 124 — Sh^-
low, ii. 523; ‘Henry V’, i. 117
— Falstaff, i. 116, 200, 507; ‘2
Henry VI’, i. 142; ‘3 Henry
Vr, i. 139; ‘Henry VIII’, i. 45;
‘King John’ — ^Arthur, i. 71;
‘Julius Caesar’, i. 90; ‘King
Lear’, i. 20, 30, 76, 93, 95, 120,
193; ii. 361; ‘Love’s Labour’s
Lost’, i. 28, 70; ii. 480; ‘Mac-
beth’, i. 83, 143; ii. 343» 414;
‘Measure for Measure’, i . 25,

263; ‘Merchant of Venice’, i. 36
-^hylock, i. 199; ‘Merry Wives
of Windsor’, i. 140; ii. 474—
Parson Hugh. i. 132, Slender,
^ 151; *Vlidsunimer-Night’s
Dream’, i.20, 22, 36,44,iu;ii.
310--1 1— Bottom, i. 200; ‘Much
Ado about Nothing’, i. 200; ii,
4835538; ‘Othello’, i. 1 73, igg; ii.
3295 332, ^6, 473~Iago, i. 245;
^Richard III , 1, 75-6, 87, 94;
‘Romeo and Juliet’, ii. 328 —
Romeo, i. 43; ii. 536; Juliet, i.
43 j 193; ‘Tempest’, i. i6, 19, 21,
3I5355 III; ii. 3515479—Gah-
ban, 1. 94; Timon of Athens’, i. g,
g; ‘Troilus and Cressida’, i. 262 ;
u. 502, 548,547; ‘Twelfth Night’,
i. 25, 200; ii. 328,525— Malvolio,
i. i99> Sir Andrew [Aguecheck],
i. 151, Viola,!. 200; ‘TwoGentic-
men of Verona* — Launce, i. 16 ;
‘Venus and Adonis’, i, 70, 139.

Shanklin, i. 18; ii. 406, 407, 412,
433, 440; compared to Win-
chester, ii. 402; letter to George
K. from, not extant, ii. 464, 470;
K.’s letters from, ii, 381-97,

‘Sh^ng Eve’s Apple’, i. 99.

Sheil, Richard Lalor, ii. gig, 335;
K. sees his ‘Evadne’, ii. 334.

Shelley, Mary*, i. 27; ii. 554.

Shelley, Percy Bysshe, i. 114; ii.

3541 biographical note on,
i.xxxv’i; attitude regarding ‘En-
dymion’, i. 94; K, receives ‘The
Ccnci’, ii. 553; inquires of Hunt
after K., ii. 553; his letter asking
K* to come to Italy, ii. 552-3; his
letter referred to by K., ii. 551,
560; meets K. at Hunt’s or
Haydon’s, i. 54; ‘Laon and
Gythna’, i. 77, 77, j66; K. sends
him ‘Lamia’, ii. 554; his high
opinion of ‘Hymn to Pan’, i. 104 ;
K. expecting ‘Prometheus’, ii.
553; ‘poor’ Shelley’s ‘quota of
good qualities’, i.* 78; ‘Queen
Mab’, i. 78; ‘The Revolt of
Islam’, i. 1 15; sonnet on the
Nile written, i. 107, no; ‘strange
stories of the death of Poets’, i. 27,
27; K. will not visit him for sake

603

GENERAL INDEX

of poetic independence, i. 56;
writes to K. at Naples, ii. 570;
K.’s letterto,ii.55i; on Godwin’s
Mandeville/i,Si.

Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, i.2g2.

Shipwreck in ‘Don Juan’, K.’s
disgust at, ii. jdj.

Shooting on Hampstead Heath, i.
280.

‘Sibylline Leaves’, i. 68.

Sidney, Algernon, i. 254, 255.

Sidney, Sir Philip, i. 23, 255.

Sievekmg, Mr. A. Forbes, i. igS.

Silenus, ii. 324.

Silver How, i. 172.

Simmons the Barber, i. 124.

Simon Pure, ii. 345, 354.

Sir Lucius [O’Trigger], i. 292.

Skiddaw, ascent of, i. 173, 176,
i77j i94» 222.

Skinner, ii. 351.

Slang of the Rice set, i. 79.

Sleep, sonnet to, ii. 366.

Smith, Horace, i. 1 14; biographical
note on, i. li ; K. dines with, i.
77; tired of Hunt, i. 54; his
‘Nehemiah Muggs’, i. 109, 114;
a witticism of, ii. 460; K.’s letter
to, i. 1 14.

Smith, James, i. 241,

Smith, William, Southey’s letter to,
i. 23-5, 23-5, 32.

Smithfield, burning in, i. 157.

Smollett, Tobias, ii. 426; com-
pared with Scott, i. 81.

Snook, Henry, Brown’s letters to,
quoted, i, 218, 222; ii. 303.

Snook, John, ofBedhampton, i.45,
274; ii. 302, 398, 469; K. and
Brown visit, ii. 301,316, 319; K.
visits, ii. 564; kmdness of Mr. and
Mrs. Snook, ii. 319.

Snook, John, of Belmont Castle, ii.
322, 322.

Snook, Matthew, ii. 304.

Snook, Mrs. John, i. 50, jr; ii. 302,

303*.

Snuff, i. 37; K. almost gives it up,
i. 283.

Socrates, i. 135; ii. 362; and Jesus,

. 341 -

Soho, 1. 127, 135.

Solomon, i. 146.

‘Solomon’, see Haydon.

Songs and soimets, writing many
at intervals, i. 1 10.

Song, a Gaelic, see Brown, Mrs.
‘Song, A Galloway’, i. 194.

‘Song about myself, A’, i. i8i.
Song, ‘I had a dove’, i. 289.

Song, ‘O Sorrow’, i. 62, 67.
Sonnet, a better stanza, ii. 369.
Sonnet, ‘Bright Star’, reference to,
i. ii. 333.

Sonnet in French begim, ii. 423.
Sonnet to Keats, anonymous, with
£25 note, i. 271, 279.

Sonnets by Keats, i. 10, 20, 95, loi,
121, 178, 197, 204, 227, 239; ii.
^ 3433 352, 3653 366, 369.

Sonnets by Reynolds, see Reynolds.
Sonnets on the Nile written by K.,
Hunt, and Shelley, i. no.
Sophocles, i. 208.

Soul, the, ‘a world of itself’, ii. 407.
‘Soul-making, the vale of’, ii. 362.
Southampton, incident on passage
from Cowes to, ii. 403; road to
described, i. 16; K.’s letter from,

i. 16.

Southcote, Joanna, ii. 321.
Southey, Robert, i. 203, 241; ii.
3353 35O3 537; Hazlitt on his
letter to William Smith, i. 23--5,
J 3 - 5 ^ 32.

‘Specimen of an Induction to a
Poem’, referred to, i. 5.
‘Spectator, The’, ii. 424^ 427, 437.
Speed, John Gilmer, i. xxxii ; ii.

577, 321, 435, 488,

Spenser, i. 5, 21, 89 ; ii. 414, 493;
K. marks copy of, for Fanny
Brawne, ii. 532.

‘Spenserian stanzas on Brown’, ii.

350; referred to, ii. 336,
Spurgeon, Dr. Caroline F. E., her
‘Keats’s Shakespeare’, i. 21, 31;

ii. 547.

Squibs, William, i. 82.

Staffa, i. 207, 21 1, 215; ii. 447; de-
scribed, i. 217; ii. 448.

‘Staffa’, poem on, i. 218; ii. 450;

referred to, ii. 434.

Stark, James, i. 114.

Steephill, ii. 385, 395.

Stephens, Henry, i. 79, 77J.

GENERAL INDEX

Sterne, ii, 435, 495. . ‘Testamentary Paper’ of Keats, ii.

Stevenson, Rice’s nickname for i 557-8.

Thornton, ii. 496. ■ Theatrical, private, described, i.

Story of a pregnant woman, ii, 484. : 96,

‘Stranger, The’ (Kotzebue), K. i Theocritus, i. 262.

sees, i. 204. : Thirlswater, i. 175.

Stranraer, i. 186, 196. i Thomson, James, ii. 339.

Stratford on Avon, i. 123, 199; visit Thornton, i. 236; ii. 490, 496.
by K. and Bailey referred to, i. ‘Thousand and One Nights, The’,
190. ii. 390.

Surrey Institution, i. 93; ii. 4^,483. Tighe, Mary% i. 281 .

Susan, Gale, ii. 355, Timbuctoo, ii. 497.

Swift, ii. 495; HazUtt on, i. 1 15. ‘Time is nothing — two years are as

Swmbume, A. G., ii. 334. long as Uventy’, ii. 294.

Switzerland, ii. 398. Timotheus, i. 43.

Syracuse, i. 38. ‘Tintem Abbey’, see Wordsworth,

Titian, i. 135.

Tale, K. proposes to write a, i. 259. ‘Tom Cribb’s Memorial to Con-
Talfourd, Thomas Noon, ii. 337, gress’ (Moore), ii. 330, 495.

‘Tam o’ Shanter’, see Bums. ‘Tom Jones’ (Fielding), quoted, i.

Tannahill, Robert, i. 223. 82.

Tarpeian Rock, i. 60. Tomline, Sir George Pret>Tnan,

Tassie’s gems, ii. 308-9, 308^ 312, Bishop of Lincoln, i. 63.

486. Tonkin, Captain Sir Warwick, i.

Tasso, i. 238, 162, 162.

Taste, Hazlitt’s depth of, i. 85, 86. ‘To Sleep*, sonnet, ii. 366.

‘Tattlers and inquisitors’, ii. 545. ‘Toots’, ii. 567.

Taylor, Ann and Jane, i. 41, 41, Tottenham, ii. 315.

Taylor, Jeremy, i. 48; ii. 326. Towers, Mr., ii. 318.

Taylor, John, i. 36, 75, 88, 93, 1 15, Translation of a sonnet of Ronsard,

142, 144, 160, 194, 243, 258; ii. i. 239.

3195 32ij 338, 34L 343 j 354 j Translation of the ‘^neid’, i. xxlx.
356, 427, 429, 431, 434, 436, 489, ‘Trapesing’, i. 274.

490; K.’s letters to, i. 83, 89, 97, Traveller, a, on Kean in Shakc-

108, 1 16, 144, 166; ii. 296, 403, speare, &c., i. 199.

410, 412, 481, 535, 554, 556. Trimmer, Mr., i. 271.

Taylor and Hessey, i. 34, 85, 279; ‘Tristram Shandy’, ii. 435, 495.

biographical note on, i. xlviii; Trojan horse, i. 141.
advances on account of *Endy- Trollop, Anthony, ii. 462.
mion’, i. 34, 36; advance of £30 Truth identical with beauty, i. 72.
from, ii. 296; K.’s letters to, i. Turkey, i. 255.

15, 34, 36, 1 18, 129. Turnbull, Mr. John M., i. 13.

Tea brokerage unsuitable to K., ii. Turton, Dr., i. 148.

485. ‘Twang-dillo-dee, the amen to

‘Teasing letters of business’, ii- 401 , nonsense’, ii. 496.

Teignmouth, i. 115, 123, 162; ii. Twiss, Horace, L 278.

372; George and Tom at, i. 79; ‘Two or Three’, ii. 316.

K. longs to be at, i. 1 10 ; K.’s

letters from, i. 1 18-51 . ^ Ulysses, i, 1 73; ii. 446.

‘Teignmouth: some dogrel’, i- Undine, ii. 424.

126-7. Unhappiness, shameful recoUcc-

Tenedos, i. 193. tions the greatest, i. 148.

Tertullian, i. 23. United States, i. 255.

605

GENERAL INDEX

‘Unloverlike page’, an, ii. 401.

Ur, i. 136.

Urganda, i. 35, 135.

Uriel’ (AUston), i. 115.

Vale of St. John, i. 176.

‘Vale of soul-making, the’, ii. 362.
Vanbrugh’s ‘Relapse’, i. 55.
Vandyck, ii. 537.

Vansittart, Nicholas, i. 203, 203.
Vathek, Caliph, i. 192, ig2.
Vellum, Master, i. 27.

Velocipede, ‘the nothing of the
day’, ii. 336.

Venery, the philosophy of, i. 154.
Venice, ii. 398, 453.

Vem^, ii. 393, 398.
v^gil, 1. xxix, 35.

Vishnu, ii. 364.

Voltaire, ii. 334, 537; K. reads, i.
u. 361; Ha2litt on, i. 115.

Wadham, Mr. W. H., i. ig,
Waithman, Mr., i. 162.
Waldegrave, Miss, i. 248, 270; ii.

319. 354.436,467, 517-
Wales, 1. 169.

Walks, hoping for renewal of, ii.

502, 522.

Wallace, ii. 474.

Wallace Tower, i. igg.

Walpole, Horace, ii. 405; his
‘Letters’, i, 289.

Walthamstow, 268 ; K. prevented
from visiting his sister at, i. 234,
240, 264; ii. 299, 310, 315, 371,
370, 370, 529; proposed visits to,

274; ii. 370, 376, 378, 417.

Walton, Mir., u. 434.

Warder, i. 263.

Warner Street, i. 12; ii. 575.
Washington, George, i. 255.

‘Wat Tyler’ (Southey), i. 23.
Waterloo, Battle of, i. 1 19.

Watts, Alaric, i. 80,

Watts, Dr. Isaac, ii. 522.

‘Waverley’, see Scott, Sir Walter.
Way, Mr.,^ of Sanstead, consecra-
tion of his chapel, ii. 302, 322.
Webb, Cornelius, i. 65- 6*^.

Webb, Mrs., ii. 318.

Webster, Mr,, ii. 400.

Well Walk, i. 54, 221, 244.

^®““Ston,Dukeof,i.33,
409, 496.

W^, Chiles, 1. 78, 79, 80, 82. 94-
sprads an evening with, i. 76^
. visits Theatre with, i. 87, q6- he
Severn dine with K., 1 \q.
his hoax on Tom K.., ii. 24I Jr
Welis, Mrs., i. 83. ’“-344,351.

Wen^orth Place, K. moves to, i
266. ’

‘Wentworthiam, the’, i.e. Mr. and
Mrs. Dilke, u. 324,

‘Werter, Mr.’ in ‘A Party of Lovers’
u. 438. ’

West, Benjamin, ‘has damned
wholKale, I 128; his ‘Death
and the Pale Horse’, i. 76.
‘Western Messenger, The’’ K.’s
letter printed in, i. iS/.
Wptimnster, K. proposes to lodge

ttAr?’ 428-9, 472.

V^at the Thrush said’: lines in a
letter to Reynolds, i. 1 1 2
White, Kirke, i. 247.

Whitehead, i. 68, 93,

‘Wieland’ (BrockdenBrown) ,ii.424.
Wight, Isle of, Isle of Wight and

Shanklin.

Wigton visited, i. 177.

Wigtown, i. 186.

Wild wood, i. 126.

W^e, D^d, i. 114, „5j K,
Haydon’s with, i. i6o.
Wilkinson’s plan’, i. 17.

Wm, K.’s last, ii. 557-8.

William of Wickham, ii. 408.
William III, ii. 444.

Williams, Mr. Dominie, ii. qi8.
Williams, I^s., i. 55.

Winander, i. 167; ii. 385.
Winandermere, i. 169, 171, 175,
177, 261. ^

Winchester, ii. 398 ~- 9 j daily
routine at, ii. 461,* described, ii.
407, 418, 439, 452-3,475; com-
pared to Shanklin, ii. 402 j no

Hbraryat,ii.y55, 399,407, 475; K.
visits town from, ii. 416; K.’s
letters from, ii. 399-412, 417-72.
Wmchester, Bishop of, ii. 462.

Wind, recipe for seeing the, i. 133.
Wmdermere, i. 167, 169, 171, 175,
177, 261.

606